^f4' 


s^m 


UNIVERSITY  OF 

ILLINOIS  !  IBRARY 

ATURBANA-C^iAMPAIGN 

BOOKSTACKS 


y 

NOVELS 


OF 


GEORGE    ELIOT. 

vol!  VIII. 
DANIEL  DERONDA. 

Vol.  I. 


NEW  YORK: 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE. 

1877. 


Let  thy  chief  terror  be  of  thine  own  soul; 
There,  'mid  the  throng  of  hurrying  desires 
That  trample  o'er  the  dead  to  seize  their  spoil. 
Lurks  vengeance,  footless,  irresistible 
As  exhalations  laden  with  slow  death, 
And  o'er  the  fairest  troop  of  captured  joys 
Breathes  pallid  pestilence. 


Copyright,  1876,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 


^^3 


DANIEL  DERONDA, 

BOOK    I. 
THE   SPOILED   CHILD. 


S-g.  ^la^ 


BOOK  I. 

THE  SPOILED  CHILD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Men  can  do  nothing  without  the  make-beheve  of  a  beginning.  Even 
Science,  the  strict  measurer,  is  obliged  to  start  with  a  make-beUeve  unit, 
and  must  fix  on  a  point  in  the  stars'  unceasing  journey  when  his  sidereal 
clock  shall  pretend  that  time  is  at  Naught.  His  less  accurate  grandmother 
Poetry  has  always  been  miderstood  to  start  in  the  middle ;  but  on  reflection 
it  appears  that  her  proceeding  is  not  very  different  from  his  ;  since  Science, 
too,  reckons  backward  as  well  as  forward,  divides  his  unit  into  billions,  and 
with  his  clock-finger  at  Xaught  really  sets  off  in  medlas  res.  Xo  retrospect 
will  take  us  to  the  true  beginning ;  and  whether  our  prologue  be  in  heaven- 
or  on  earth,  it  is  but  a  fraction  of  that  all-presupposing  fact  with  which  our 
story  sets  out." 

Was  she  beautiful  or  not  beautiful  ?  and  what  was  the  secret 
of  form  or  expression  which  gave  the  dynamic  quality  to  her 
glance?  Was  the  good  or  the  evil  genius  dominant  in  those 
beams  ?  Probably  the  evil ;  else  why  was  the  effect  that  of  un- 
rest rather  than  of  undisturbed  charm  ?  Why  was  the  wish  to 
look  again  felt  as  coercion,  and  not  as  a  longing  in  which  the 
whole  being  consents  ? 

She  who  raised  these  questions  in  Daniel  Deronda's  mind 
was  occupied  in  gambling :  not  in  the  open  air  under  a  south- 
ern sky,  tossing  coppers  on  a  ruined  wall,  with  rags  about  her 
limbs ;  but  in  one  of  those  splendid  resorts  which  the  enlight- 
enment of  ages  has  prepared  for  the  same  species  of  pleasure  at 
a  heavy  cost  of  gilt  moldings,  dark-toned  color,  and  chubby  nu- 
dities, all  correspondingly  heavy — forming  a  suitable  condenser 
for  human  breath  belonging,  in  great  part,  to  the  highest  fash- 
ion, and  not  easily  procurable  to  be  breathed  in  elsewhere  in 
the  like  proportion,  at  least  by  persons  of  little  fashion. 


8  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

It  was  near  four  o'clock  on  a  September  day,  so  that  the  at- 
mosphere was  well-brewed  to  a  visible  haze.  There  was  deep 
stillness,  broken  only  by  a  light  rattle,  a  light  chink,  a  small 
sweeping  sound,  and  an  occasional  monotone  in  French,  such  as 
might  be  expected  to  issue  from  an  ingeniously  constructed  au- 
tomaton. Round  two  long  tables  were  gathered  two  serried 
crowds  of  human  beings,  all  save  one  having  their  faces  and  at- 
tention bent  on  the  tables.  The  one  exception  was  a  melan- 
choly little  boy,  Avith  his  knees  and  calves  simply  in  their  nat- 
ural clothing  of  epidermis,  but  for  the  rest  of  his  person  in  a 
fancy  dress.  He  alone  had  his  face  turned  toAvard  the  door- 
way, and,  fixing  on  it  the  blank  gaze  of  a  bedizened  child  sta- 
tioned as  a  masquerading  advertisement  on  the  platform  of  an 
itinerant  show,  stood  close  behind  a  lady  deeply  engaged  at  the 
roulette-table. 

About  this  table  fifty  or  sixty  persons  Avere  assembled,  many 
in  the  outer  roAvs,  where  there  was  occasionally  a  deposit  of 
new-comers,  being  mere  spectators,  only  that  one  of  them,  usu- 
ally a  Avoman,  might  noAv  and  then  be  observed  putting  doAvn 
a  five-franc  piece  Avith  a  simpering  air,  just  to  see  Avhat  the  pas- 
sion of  gambling  really  Avas.  Those  Avho  Avere  taking  their 
pleasure  at  a  higher  strength,  and  Avere  absorbed  in  play,  shoAved 
very  distant  varieties  of  European  type  :  Livonian  and  Spanish, 
Gra3co-Italian  and  miscellaneous  German,  English  aristocratic 
and  English  plebeian.  Here,  certainly,  Avas  a  striking  admission 
of  human  equality.  The  Avliite  bejcAveled  fingers  of  an  English 
countess  were  very  near  touching  a  bony,  yelloAV,  crab-like  hand 
stretching  a  bared  wrist  to  clutch  a  heap  of  coin — a  hand  easy 
to  sort  Avith  the  square,  gaunt  face,  deep-set  eyes,  grizzled  eye- 
broAvs,  and  ill-combed  scanty  hair  AA^hich  seemed  a  slight  meta- 
morphosis of  the  vulture.  And  where  else  Avould  her  ladyship 
have  graciously  consented  to  sit  by  that  dry-lipped  feminine 
figure  prematurely  old,  withered  after  short  bloom  like  her  ar- 
tificial floAvers,  holding  a  shabby  velvet  reticule  before  her,  and 
occasionally  putting  in  her  mouth  the  point  Avith  Avhich  she 
pricked  her  card  ?  There,  too,  very  near  the  fair  countess,  Avas 
a  respectable  London  tradesman,  blonde  and  soft-handed,  his 
sleek  hair  scrupulously  parted  behind  and  before,  conscious  of 
circulars  addressed  to  the  nobility  and  gentry,  Avhose  distin- 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  9 

guished  patronage  enabled  him  to  take  his  holidays  fashiona- 
bly, and  to  a  certain  extent  in  their  distinguished  company. 
Not  his  the  gambler's  passion  that  nullifies  appetite,  but  a  well- 
fed  leisure,  which,  in  the  intervals  of  winning  money  in  business 
and  spending  it  showily,  sees  no  better  resource  than  winning 
money  in  play  and  spending  it  yet  more  showily  —  reflecting 
always  that  Providence  had  never  manifested  any  disapproba- 
tion of  his  amusement,  and  dispassionate  enough  to  leave  off 
if  the  sweetness  of  winning  much  and  seeing  others  lose  had 
turned  to  the  sourness  of  losing  much  and  seeing  others  win. 
For  the  vice  of  gambling  lay  in  losing  money  at  it.  In  his 
bearing  there  might  be  something  of  the  tradesman,  but  in  his 
pleasures  he  was  fit  to  rank  wdth  the  owners  of  the  oldest  titles. 
vStanding  close  to  his  chair  was  a  handsome  Italian,  calm,  statu- 
esque, reaching  across  him  to  place  the  first  pile  of  napoleons 
from  a  new  bagful  just  brought  him  by  an  envoy  with  a  scroll- 
ed mustache.  The  pile  was  in  half  a  minute  pushed  over  to  an 
old  bewigged  woman  with  eyeglasses  pinching  her  nose.  There 
was  a  slight  gleam,  a  faint  mumbling  smile  about  the  lips  of 
the  old  woman  ;  but  the  statuesque  Italian  remained  impassive, 
and — probably  secure  in  an  infallible  system  which  placed  his 
foot  on  the  neck  of  chance — immediately  prepared  a  new  pile. 
So  did  a  man  with  the  air  of  an  emaciated  beau  or  worn-out 
libertine,  who  looked  at  life  through  one  eyeglass,  and  held  out 
his  hand  tremulously  when  he  asked  for  change.  It  could  sure- 
ly be  no  severity  of  system,  but  rather  some  dream  of  white 
crows,  or  the  induction  that  the  eighth  of  the  month  was  lucky, 
which  inspired  the  fierce  yet  tottering  impulsiveness  of  his 
play. 

But  while  every  single  player  differed  markedly  from  every 
other,  there  was  a  certain  uniform  negativeness  of  expression 
which  had  the  effect  of  a  mask  —  as  if  they  had  all  eaten  of 
some  root  that  for  the  time  compelled  the  brains  of  each  to 
the  same  narrow  monotony  of  action. 

Deronda's  first  thought,  when  his  eyes  fell  on  this  scene  of 
dull,  gas-poisoned  absorption,  was  that  the  gambling  of  Spanish 
shepherd-boys  had  seemed  to  him  more  enviable :  so  far  Rous- 
seau might  be  justified  in  maintaining  that  art  and  science  had 
done  a  poor  service  to  mankind.      But  suddenlv  he  felt  the 

1* 


10  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

moment  become  dramatic.  His  attention  was  arrested  by  a 
young  lady  who,  standing  at  an  angle  not  far  from  him,  was  the 
last  to  whom  his  eyes  traveled.  She  was  bending,  and  speaking 
English  to  a  middle-aged  lady  seated  at  play  beside  her ;  but 
the  next  instant  she  returned  to  her  play,  and  showed  the  full 
height  of  a  graceful  figure,  with  a  face  which  might  possibly  be 
looked  at  without  admiration,  but  could  hardly  be  passed  with 
indifference. 

The  inward  debate  which  she  raised  in  Deronda  gave  to  his 
eyes  a  growing  expression  of  scrutiny,  tending  further  and 
further  away  from  the  glow  of  mingled  undefined  sensibilities 
forming  admiration.  At  one  moment  they  followed  the  move- 
ments of  the  figure,  of  the  arms  and  hands,  as  this  problematic 
sylph  bent  forward  to  deposit  her  stake  with  an  air  of  firm 
choice ;  and  the  next  they  returned  to  the  face  which,  at  pres- 
ent unaffected  by  beholders,  was  directed  steadily  toward  the 
game.  The  sylph  was  a  winner ;  and  as  her  taper  fingers,  deli- 
cately gloved  in  pale  gray,  were  adjusting  the  coins  which  had 
been  pushed  toward  her  in  order  to  pass  them  back  again  to 
the  winning  point,  she  looked  round  her  with  a  survey  too 
markedly  cold  and  neutral  not  to  have  in  it  a  little  of  that 
nature  which  we  call  art  concealing  an  inward  exultation. 

But  in  thp  course  of  that  survey  her  eyes  met  Deronda's,  and 
instead  of  averting  them  as  she  would  have  desired  to  do,  she 
was  unpleasantly  conscious  that  they  were  arrested — how  long  ? 
The  darting  sense  that  he  was  measuring  her  and  looking  down" 
on  her  as  an  inferior,  that  he  was  of  different  quality  from  the 
human  dross  around  her,  that  he  felt  himself  in  a  reo^ion  out- 
side  and  above  her,  and  was  examining  her  as  a  specimen  of  a 
lower  order,  roused  a  tingling  resentment  which  stretched  the 
moment  with  conflict.  It  did  not  bring  the  blood  to  her 
cheeks,  but  sent  it  away  from  her  lips.  She  controlled  herself 
by  the  help  of  an  inward  defiance,  and,  without  other  sign  of 
emotion  than  this  lip-paleness,  turned  to  her  play.  But  Deron- 
da's gaze  seemed  to  have  acted  as  an  evil  eye.  Her  stake  was 
gone.  No  matter ;  she  had  been  winning  ever  since  she  took 
to  roulette  with  a  few  napoleons  at  command,  and  had  a  con- 
siderable reserve.  She  had 'begun  to  believe  in  her  luck,  others 
had  begun  to  believe  in  it :  she  had  visions  of  being  followed 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  11 

by  a  cortege  wlio  would  worship  her  as  a  goddess  of  luck,  and 
watch  her  play  as  a  directing  augury.  Such  things  had  been 
known  of  male  gamblers;  why  should  not  a  woman  have  a 
like  supremacy  ?  Her  friend  and  chaperon,  who  had  not  wished 
her  to  play  at  first,  was  beginning  to  approve,  only  administer- 
ing the  prudent  advice  to  stop  at  the  right  moment  and  carry 
money  back  to  England — advice  to  which  Gwendolen  had  re- 
plied that  she  cared  for  the  excitement  of  play,  not  the  win- 
nings. On  that  supposition,  the  present  moment  ought  to  have 
made  the  flood-tide  in  her  eager  experience  of  gambling.  Yet 
when  her  next  stake  was  swept  away,  she  felt  the  orbits  of  her 
eyes  getting  hot,  and  the  certainty  she  had  (without  looking) 
of  that  man  still  watching  her  was  something  like  a  pressure 
which  begins  to  be  torturing.  The  more  reason  to  her  why 
she  should  not  flinch,  but  go  on  playing  as  if  she  were  indif- 
ferent to  loss  or  gain.  Her  friend  touched  her  elbow,  and  pro- 
posed that  they  should  quit  the  table.  For  reply  Gwendolen 
put  ten  louis  on  the  same  spot :  she  was  in  that  mood  of  de- 
fiance in  which  the  mind  loses  sight  of  any  end  beyond  the 
satisfaction  of  enraged  resistance ;  and,  with  the  puerile  stupid- 
ity of  a  dominant  impulse,  includes  luck  among  its  objects  of 
defiance.  Since  she  was  not  winning  strikingly,  the  next  best 
thing  was  to  lose  strikingly.  She  controlled  her  muscles,  and 
showed  no  tremor  of  mouth  or  hands.  Each  time  her  stake 
was  swept  off  she  doubled  it.  Many  were  now  watching  her, 
but  the  sole  observation  she  was  conscious  of  was  Deronda's, 
who,  though  she  never  looked  toward  him,  she  was  sure  had 
not  moved  away.  Such  a  drama  takes  no  long  while  to  play 
out ;  development  and  catastrophe  can  often  be  measured  by 
nothing  clumsier  than  the  moment -hand.  "Faites  votre  jeu, 
mesdames  et  messieurs,"  said  the  automatic  voice  of  destiny 
from  between  the  mustache  and  imperial  of  the  croupier ;  and 
Gwendolen's  arm  was  stretched  to  deposit  her  last  poor  heap  of 
napoleons.  "Le  jeu  ne  va  plus,"  said  destiny.  And  in  five 
seconds  Gwendolen  turned  from  the  table,  but  turned  resolutely 
with  her  face  toward  Deronda,  and  looked  at  him.  There  was 
a  smile  of  irony  in  his  eyes  as  their  glances  met ;  but  it  was  at 
least  better  that  he  should  have  kept  his  attention  fixed  on  hei* 
than  that  he  should  have  disregarded  her  as  one  of  an  insect 


12  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

swarm  who  liad  no  individual  physiognomy.  Besides,  in  spite 
of  his  superciliousness  and  irony,  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that 
he  did  not  admire  her  spirit  as  well  as  her  person.  He  was 
young,  handsome,  distinguished  in  appearance  —  not  one  of- 
those  ridiculous  and  dowdy  Philistines  who  thought  it  incum- 
bent on  them  to  blight  the  gaming-table  with  a  sour  look  of 
protest  as  they  passed  by  it.  The  general  conviction  that  we 
are  admirable  does  not  easily  give  way  before  a  single  nega- 
tive ;  rather,  when  any  of  Vanity's  large  family,  male  or  female, 
find  their  performance  received  coldly,  they  are  apt  to  believe 
that  a  little  more  of  it  will  win  over  the  unaccountable  dissi- 
dent. In  Gwendolen's  habits  of  mind,  it  had  been  taken  for 
granted  that  she  knew  what  was  admirable,  and  that  she  her- 
self was  admired.  This  basis  of  her  thinking  had  received  a 
disagreeable  concussion,  and  reeled  a  little,  but  was  not  easily 
to  be  overthrown. 

In  the  evening  the  same  room  was  more  stiflingly  heated, 
was  brilliant  with  gas  and  with  the  costumes  of  many  ladies 
who  floated  their  trains  along  it,  or  were  seated  on  the  otto- 
mans. 

The  Nereid  in  sea-green  robes  and  silver  ornaments,  with  a 
pale  sea-green  feather  fastened  in  silver  falling  backward  over 
her  green  hat  and  light -brown  hair,  was  Gwendolen  Harleth. 
She  was  under  the  wing,  or  rather  soared  by  the  shoulder,  of  the 
lady  who  had  sat  by  her  at  the  roulette-table  ;  and  with  them 
was  a  gentleman  with  a  white  mustache  and  clipped  hair ;  solid- 
browed,  stiff,  and  German.  They  were  walking  about  or  stand- 
ing to  chat  with  acquaintances ;  and  Gwendolen  was  much  ob- 
served by  the  seated  groups. 

"A  striking  girl — that  Miss  Harleth — unlike  others." 

"  Yes ;  she  has  got  herself  up  as  a  sort  of  serpent  now,  all 
green  and  silver,  and  winds  her  neck  about  a  little  more  than 
usual." 

"Oh^Bhe  must  always  be  doing  something  extraordinary. 
She  is  that  kind  of  girl,  I  fancy.  X>o  you  think  her  pretty,  Mr. 
Vandernoodt?" 

"  Very.  A  man  might  risk  hanging  for  her — I  mean,  a  fool 
might." 

"  You  like  a  nez  retrousse,  then,  and  long,  narrow  eyes  ?" 


BOOK    I.-^THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  13 

"  When  they  go  with  such  an  ensemble^ 

"The  ensemble  du  serpent P^ 

"  If  you  -will.  Woman  was  tempted  by  a  serpent :  why  not 
man  ?" 

"  She  is  certainly  very  graceful.  But  she  wants  a  tinge  of 
color  in  her  cheeks :  it  is  a  sort  of  Lamia  beauty  she  has." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  think  her  complexion  one  of  her  chief 
charms.  It  is  a  warm  paleness :  it  looks  thoroughly  healthy. 
And  that  delicate  nose,  with  its  gradual  little  upward  curve,  is 
distracting.  And  then  her  mouth — there  never  was  a  prettier 
mouth,  the  lips  curl  backward  so  finely,  eh,  Mackworth  ?" 

"  Think  so  ?  I  can  not  endure  that  sort  of  mouth.  It  looks 
so  self-complacent,  as  if  it  knew  its  own  beauty :  the  curves  are 
too  immovable.     I  like  a  mouth  that  trembles  more." 

"  For  my  part,  I  think  her  odious,"  said  a  dowager.  "  It  is 
wonderful  what  unpleasant  girls  get  into  vogue.  Who  are  these 
Langens  ?     Does  any  body  know  them  ?" 

"  They  are  quite  comme  il  faiit.  I  have  dined  with  them 
several  times  at  the  Russie.  Tl^e  baroness  is  English.  Miss 
Ilarleth  calls  her  cousin.  The  girl  herself  is  thoroughly  well- 
bred,  and  as  clever  as  possible." 

"  Dear  me  !     And  the  baron  ?" 

"A  very  good  furniture  picture." 

"  Your  baroness  is  always  at  the  roulette-table,"  said  Mack- 
worth.     "  I  fancy  she  has  taught  the  girl  to  gamble." 

*'  Oh,  the  old  woman  plays  a  very  sober  game ;  drops  a  ten- 
franc  piece  here  and  there.  The  girl  is  more  headlong.  But 
it  is  only  a  freak." 

"  I  hear  she  has  lost  all  her  winnings  to-day.  Are  they  rich  ? 
Who  knows?" 

"  Ah,  who  knows  ?  AATio  knows  that  about  any  body  ?"  said 
Mr.  Yandernoodt,  moving  oS  to  join  the  Langens.   " 

The  remark  that  Gwendolen  wound  her  neck  about  more 
than  usual  this  evening  was  true.  But  it  was  not  that  she 
might  carry  out  the  serpent  idea  more  completely :  it  was  that 
she  watched  for  any  chance  of  seeing  Deronda,  so  that  she 
might  inquire  about  this  stranger,  under  whose  measuring  gaze 
she  was  still  wincing.     At  last  her  opportunity  came. 

"  Mr.  Yandernoodt,  you  know  every  body,"  said  Gwendolen, 


14  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

not  too  eagerly,  rather  with  a  certain  languor  of  utterance 
which  she  sometimes  gave  to  her  clear  soprano.  "  Who  is  that 
near  the  door  ?" 

"  There  are  half  a  dozen  near  the  door.  Do  you  mean  that 
old  Adonis  in  the  George  the  Fourth  wig?" 

"  No,  no ;  the  dark-haired  young  man  on  the  right  with  the 
dreadful  expression." 

"Dreadful,  do  you  call  it?  I  think  he  is  an  uncommonly 
fine  fellow." 

"But  who  is  he?" 

"  He  is  lately  come  to  our  hotel  with  Sir  Hugo  Mallinger." 

"Sir  Hugo  Mallinger?" 

"  Yes.     Do  you  know  him  ?" 

"  No."  (Gwendolen  colored  slightly.)  "  He  has  a  place  near 
us,  but  he  never  comes  to  it.  What  did  you  say  was  the  name 
of  that  gentleman  near  the  door  ?" 

"  Deronda — Mr.  Deronda." 

"  What  a  delightful  name !     Is  he  an  Englishman  ?" 

"  Yes.  He  is  reported  to  be  rather  closely  related  to  the 
baronet.     You  are  interested  m  him  ?" 

"  Yes.     I  tliink  he  is  not  like  young  men  in  general." 

"And  you  don't  admire  young  men  in  general?" 

"  Not  in  the  least.  I  always  know  what  they  will  say.  I 
can't  at  all  guess  what  this  Mr.  Deronda  would  say.  What  does 
he  say?" 

"  Nothing,  chiefly.  I  sat  with  his  party  for  a  good  hour  last 
night  on  the  terrace,  and  he  never  spoke — and  was  not  smok- 
ing either.     He  looked  bored." 

"  Another  reason  why  I  should  like  to  know  him.  I  am  al- 
ways bored." 

"  I  should  think  he  would  be  charmed  to  have  an  introduc- 
tion.    Shall  I  bring  it  about  ?     Will  you  allow  it,  baroness  ?" 

"  "Why  not  ? — since  he  is  related  to  Sir  Hugo  Mallinger.  It 
is  a  new  role  of  yours,  Gwendolen,  to  be  always  bored,"  contin- 
ued Madame  von  Langen,  when  Mr.  Yandernoodt  had  moved 
away.  "  Until  now  you  have  always  seemed  eager  about  some- 
thing from  morning  till  night." 

"  That  is  just  because  I  am  bored  to  death.  If  I  am  to  leave 
off  play,  I  must  break  my  arm  or  my  collar-bone.    I  must  make 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.       '  15 

somethmg  happen ;  unless  you  will  go  into  Switzerland  and 
take  me  up  the  Matterhorn." 

"  Perhaps  this  Mr.  Deronda's  acquaintance  will  do  instead  of 
the  Matterhorn." 

"  Perhaps." 

But  Gwendolen  did  not  make  Deronda's  acquaintance  on 
this  occasion.  Mr.  Yandernoodt  did  not  succeed  in  bringing 
him  up  to  her  that  evening,  and  when  she  re-entered  her  own 
room,  she  found  a  letter  recalling  her  home. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  This  man  contrives  a  secret  'twixt  us  two, 
That  he  may  quell  me  with  his  meeting  eyes 
Like  one  who  quells  a  lioness  at  bay." 

This  was  the  letter  Gwendolen  found  on  her  table : 

"  Dearest  Child, — I  have  been  expecting  to  hear  from  you 
for  a  week.  In  your  last  you  said  the  Langens  thought  of 
going  to  Baden.  How  could  you  be  so  thoughtless  as  to  leave 
me  in  uncertainty  about  your  address  ?  I  am  in  the  greatest 
anxiety  lest  this  should  not  reach  you.  In  any  case,  you  were 
to  come  home  at  the  end  of  September ;  and  I  must  now  en- 
treat you  to  return  as  quickly  as  possible,  for  if  you  spent  all 
your  money  it  would  be  out  of  my  power  to  send  you  any 
more,  and  you  must  not  borrow  of  the  Langens,  for  I  could  not 
repay  them.  This  is  the  sad  truth,  my  child — I  wish  I  could 
prepare  you  for  it  better — but  a  dreadful  calamity  has  befallen 
us  all.  You  know  nothing  about  business,  and  will  not  under- 
stand it ;  but  Grapnell  &  Co.  have  failed  for  a  million,  and  we 
are  totally  ruined  —  your  aunt  Gascoigne  as  well  as  I,  only  that 
your  uncle  has  his  benefice,  so  that  by  putting  down  their  car- 
riage and  getting  interest  for  the  boys,  the  family  can  go  on. 
All  the  property  our  poor  father  saved  for  us  goes  to  pay  the 
[labilities.  There  is  nothing  I  can  call  my  own.  It  is  better 
you  should  know  this  at  once,  though  it  rends  my  heart  to  have 
to  tell  it  you.     Of  course,  we  can  not  help  thinking  what  a  pity' 


16  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

it  was  that  you  went  away  just  when  you  did.  But  I  shall 
never  reproach  you,  my  dear  child;  I  would. save  you  from  all 
trouble  if  I  could.  On  your  way  home  you  will  have  time  to 
prepare  yourself  for  the  change  you  will  find.  AVe  shall  per-~ 
haps  leave  Offendene  at  once,  for  we  hope  that  Mr.  Haynes, 
who  wanted  it  before,  may  be  ready  to  take  it  off  my  hands. 
Of  course  we  can  not  go  to  the  rectory — there  is  not  a  corner 
there  to  spare.  We  must  get  some  hut  or  other  to  shelter  us, 
and  we  must  live  on  your  Uncle  Gascoigne's  charity,  until  I  see 
what  else  can  be  done.  I  shall  not  be  able  to  pay  the  debts  to 
the  tradesmen  besides  the  servants'  wages.  Summon  up  your 
fortitude,  my  dear  child;  we  must  resign  ourselves  to  God's 
will.  But  it  is  hard  to  resign  one's  self  to  Mr.  Lassman's 
wicked  recklessness,  which  they  say  was  the  cause  of  the  fail- 
ure. Your  poor  sisters  can  only  cry  with  me  and  give  me  no 
help.  If  you  were  once  here,  there  might  be  a  break  in  the 
cloud.  I  always  feel  it  impossible  that  you  can  have  been 
meant  for  poverty.  If  the  Langens  wish  to  remain  abroad,  per- 
haps you  can  put  yourself  under  some  one  else's  care  for  the 
journey.  But  come  as  soon  as  you  can  to  your  afflicted  and 
loving  mamma,  Fanny  Davilow." 

The  first  effect  of  this  letter  on  Gwendolen  was  half  stupefy- 
ing. The  implicit  confidence  that  her  destiny  must  be  one  of 
luxurious  ease,  where  any  trouble  that  occurred  would  be  well 
clad  and  provided  for,  had  been  stronger  in  her  own  mind  than 
in  her  mamma's,  being  fed  there  by  her  youthful  blood  and 
that  sense  of  superior  claims  which  made  a  large  part  of  her 
consciousness.  It  was  almost  as  difficult  for  her  to  believe  sud- 
denly that  her  position  had  become  one  of  poverty  and  humili- 
ating dependence,  as  it  would  have  been  to  get  into  the  strong 
current  of  her  blooming  life  the  chill  sense  that  her  death 
would  really  come.  She  stood  motionless  for  a  few  minutes, 
then  tossed  off  her  hat,  and  automatically  looked  in  the  glass. 
The  coils  of  her  smooth  light -brown  hair  were  still  in  order 
perfect  enough  for  a  ball-room ;  and,  as  on  other  nights,  Gwen- 
dolen might  have  looked  lingeringly  at  herself  for  pleasure 
(surely  an  allowable  indulgence) ;  but  now  she  took  no  con- 
scious note  of  her  reflected  beauty,  and  simply  stared  right  be- 


BOOK 


-THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  1  7 


fore  her,  as  if  she  had  been  jarred  by  a  hateful  sound,  and  was 
waiting  for  any  sign  of  its  cause. 

By-and-by  she  threw  herself  in  the  corner  of  the  red  velvet 
sofa,  took  up  the  letter  again  and  read  it  twice  delibei'ately,  let- 
ting it  at  last  fall  on  the  ground,  while  she  rested  her  clasped 
hands  on  her  lap  and  sat  perfectly  still,  shedding  no  tears.  Her 
impulse  was  to  survey  and  resist  the  situation  rather  than  to 
wail  over  it.  There  was  no  inward  exclamation  of  "Poor 
mamma!"  Her  mamma  had  never  seemed  to  get  much  en- 
joyment out  of  life ;  and  if  Gwendolen  had  been  at  this  mo- 
ment disposed  to  feel  pity,  she  would  have  bestowed  it  on  her- 
self— for  was  she  not  naturally  and  rightfully  the  chief  object 
of  her  mamma's  anxiety  too  ?  But  it  was  anger,  it  was  resist- 
ance, that  possessed  her :  it  was  bitter  vexation  that  she  had 
lost  her  gains  at  roulette;  whereas  if  her  luck  had  continued 
through  this  one  day,  she  would  have  had  a  handsome  sum  to 
carry  home,  or  she  might  have  gone  on  playing  and  won  enough 
to  support  them  all.  Even  now  was  it  not  possible  ?  She  had 
only  four  napoleons  left  in  her  purse,  but  she  possessed  some 
ornaments  which  she  could  pawn :  a  practice  so  common  in 
stylish  society  at  German  baths  that  there  was  no  need  to  be 
ashamed  of  it ;  and  even  if  she  had  not  received  her  mamma's 
letter,  she  would  probably  have  decided  to  raise  money  on  an 
Etruscan  necklace  which  she  happened  not  to  have  been  wear- 
ing since  her  arrival ;  nay,  she  might  have  done  so  with  an 
agreeable  sense  that  she  was  living  with  some  intensity  and  es- 
caping humdrum.  With  ten  louis  at  her  disposal  and  a  return 
of  her  former  luck,  which  seemed  probable,  what  could  she  do 
better  than  go  on  playing  for  a  few  days  ?  If  her  friends  at 
home  disapproved  of  the  way  in  which  she  got  the  money,  as 
they  certainly  would,  still  the  money  would  be  there.  Gwen- 
dolen's imagination  dwelt  on  this  course,  and  created  agreeable 
consequences,  but  not  with  unbroken  confidence  and  rising  cer- 
tainty, as  it  would  have  done  if  she  had  been  touched  with  the 
gambler's  mania.  She  had  gone  to  the  roulette-table  not  be- 
cause of  passion,  but  in  search  of  it.  Her  mind  was  still  sanely 
capable  of  picturing  balanced  probabilities ;  and  while  the  chance 
of  winning  allured  her,  the  chance  of  losing  thrust  itself  on  her 
with  alternate  strength,  and  made  a  vision  from  which  her  pride 


18  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

shrunk  sensitively.  For  she  was  resolved  not  to  tell  the  Lang- 
ens  that  any  misfortune  had  befallen  her  family,  or  to  make 
herself  in  any  way  indebted  to  their  compassion ;  and  if  she 
were  to  pawn  her  jewelry  to  any  observable  extent,  they  would 
interfere  by  inquiries  and  remonstrances.  The  course  that  held 
the  least  risk  of  intolerable  annoyance  was  to  raise  money  on 
her  necklace  early  in  the  morning,  tell  the  Langens  that  her 
mamma  desired  her  immediate  return  without  giving  a  reason, 
and  take  the  train  for  Brussels  that  evening.  She  had  no  maid 
with  her,  and  the  Langens  might  make  difficulties  about  her  re- 
turning alone,  but  her  will  was  peremptory. 

Instead  of  going  to  bed,  she  made  as  brilliant  a  light  as  she 
could,  and  began  to  pack,  working  diligently,  though  all  the 
while  visited  by  the  scenes  that  might  take  place  on  the  coming 
day — now  by  the  tiresome  explanations  and  farewells,  and  the 
whirling  journey  toward  a  changed  home,  now  by  the  alterna- 
tive of  staying  just  another  day  and  standing  again  at  the  rou- 
lette-table. But  always  in  this  latter  scene  there  was  the  pres- 
ence of  that  Deronda,  w^atching  her  with  exasperating  irony, 
and — the  two  keen  experiences  were  inevitably  revived  togeth- 
er— beholding  her  again  forsaken  by  luck.  This  importunate 
image  certainly  helped  to  sway  her  resolve  on  the  side  of  im- 
mediate departure,  and  to  urge  her  packing  to  the  point  which 
would  make  a  change  of  mind  inconvenient.  It  had  struck 
twelve  when  she  came  into  her  room,  and  by  the  time  she  was 
assuring  herself  that  she  had  left  out  only  what  was  necessary, 
the  faint  dawn  was  stealing  through  the  white  blinds  and  dull- 
ing her  candles.  AYhat  was  the  use  of  going  to  bed?  Her 
cold  bath  ^yas  refreshment  enough,  and  she  saw  that  a  slight 
trace  of  fatigue  about  the  eyes  only  made  her  look  the  more 
interesting. 

Before  six  o'clock  she  was  completely  equipped  in  her  gray 
traveling-dress,  even  to  her  felt  hat,  for  she  meant  to  walk  out 
as  soon  as  she  could  count  on  seeing  other  ladies  on  their  way 
to  the  springs.  And  happening  to  be  seated  sideways  before 
the  long  strip  of  mirror  between  her  two  windows,  she  turned 
to  look  at  herself,  leaning  her  elbow  on  the  back  of  the  chair 
in  an  attitude  that  might  have  been  chosen  for  her  portrait. 
It  is  possible  to  have  a  strong  self-love  without  any  self-satis- 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  19 

faction,  rather  with  a  self-discontent  which  is  the  more  intense 
because  one's  own  little  core  of  egoistic  sensibility  is  a  supreme 
care ;  but  Gwendolen  knew  nothing  of  such  inward  strife.  She 
had  a  naive  delight  in  her  fortunate  self,  w^hich  any  but  the 
harshest  saintliness  will  have  some  indulgence  for  in  a  girl  who 
had  every  day  seen  a  pleasant  reflection  of  that  self  in  her 
friends'  flattery  as  well  as  in  the  looking-glass.  And  even  in 
this  beginning  of  troubles,  while  for  lack  of  any  thing  else  to 
do  she  sat  gazing  at  her  image  in  the  growing  light,  her  face 
gathered  a  complacency  gradual  as  the  cheerfulness  of  the 
morning.  Her  beautiful  lips  curled  into  a  more  and  more  de- 
cided smile,  till  at  last  she  took  off  her  hat,  leaned  forward,  and 
kissed  the  cold  glass  which  had  looked  so  w^arm.  How  could 
she  believe  in  sorrow  ?  If  it  attacked  her,  she  felt  the  force  to 
crush  it,  to  defy  it,  or  run  away  from  it,  as  she  had  done  al- 
ready. Any  thing  seemed  more  possible  than  that  she  could 
go  on  bearing  miseries,  great  or  small. 

Madame  von  Langen  never  went  out  before  breakfast,  so 
that  Gwendolen  could  safely  end  her  early  walk  by  taking  her 
way  homeward  through  the  Obere  Strasse,  in  which  was  the 
needed  shop,  sure  to  be  open  after  seven.  At  that  hour  any 
observers  w^hom  she  minded  would  be  cither  on  their  walks  in 
the  region  of  the  springs,  or  would  be  still  in  their  bedrooms ; 
but  certainly  there  was  one  grand  hotel,  The  Czarina,  from 
which  eyes  might  follow  her  up  to  Mr.  AViener's  door.  This 
was  a  chance  to  be  risked :  might  she  not  be  going  in  to  buy 
something  which  had  struck  her  fancy?  This  implicit  false- 
hood passed  through  her  mind  as  she  remembered  that  The 
Czarina  was  Deronda's  hotel ;  but  she  was  then  already  far  up 
the  Obere  Strasse,  and  she  walked  on  wdth  her  usual  floating 
movement,  every  line  in  her  figure  and  drapery  falling  in  gen- 
tle curves  attractive  to  all  eyes  except  those  which  discerned  in 
them  too  close  a  resemblance  to  the  serpent,  and  objected  to 
the  revival  of  serpent-worship.  She  looked  neither  to  the  right 
hand  nor  to  the  left,  and  transacted  her  business  in  the  shop 
with  a  coolness  which  gave  little  Mr.  Wiener  nothing  to  remark 
except  her  proud  grace  of  manner,  and  the  superior  size  and 
quality  of  the  three  central  turquoises  in  the  necklace  she  of- 
fered him.     They  had  belonged  to  a  chain  once  her  father's; 


20  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

but  she  had  never  known  her  father;  and  the  necklace  was  in 
all  respects  the  ornament  she  could  most  conveniently  part 
with. 

Who  supposes  that  it  is  an  impossible  contradiction  to  be 
superstitious  and  rationalizing  at  the  same  time  ?  Eoulette  en- 
courages a  romantic  superstition  as  to  the  chances  of  the  game^ 
and  the  most  prosaic  rationalism  as  to  human  sentiments  which 
stand  in  the  way  of  raising  needful  money.  Gwendolen's  dom- 
inant regret  was  that,  after  all,  she  had  only  nine  louis  to  add 
to  the  four  in  her  purse :  these  Jew  pawnbrokers  were  so  un- 
scrupulous in  taking  advantage  of  Christians  unfortunate  at 
play  !  But  she  was  the  Langens'  guest  in  their  hired  apartment, 
and  had  nothing  to  pay  there :  thirteen  louis  would  do  more 
than  take  her  home :  even  if  she  determined  on  risking  three, 
the  remaining  ten  would  more  than  suffice,  since  she  meant  to 
travel  right  on,  day  and  night. 

As  she  turned  homeward — nay,  entered  and  seated  herself  in 
the  salon  to  await  her  friends  and  breakfast — she  still  wavered 
as  to  her  immediate  departure,  or  rather  she  had  concluded  to 
tell  the  Langens  simply  that  she  had  had  a  letter  from  her 
mamma  desiring  her  return,  and  to  leave  it  still  undecided 
when  she  should  start.  It  was  already  the  usual  breakfast- 
time,  and,  hearing  some  one  enter  as  she  was  leaning  back  rath- 
er tired  and  hungry,  with  her  eyes  shut,  she  rose,  expecting  to 
see  one  or  other  of  the  Langens  —  the  words  which  might  de- 
termine her  lingering  at  least  another  day  ready-formed  to  pass 
her  lips.  But  it  was  the  servant  bringing  in  a  small  packet  for 
Miss  Harleth,  which  had  that  moment  been  left  at  the  dooi-. 
Gwendolen  tqok  it  in  her  hand,  and  immediately  hurried  into 
her  own  room.  She  looked  paler  and  more  agitated  than  when 
she  had  first  read  her  mamma's  letter.  Something — she  never 
quite  knew  what — revealed  to  her,  before  she  opened  the  packet, 
that  it  contained  the  necklace  she  had  just  parted  ydth.  Un- 
derneath the  paper  it  was  wrapped  in  a  cambrie  handkerchief, 
and  within  this  was  a  scrap  of  torn-off  note-paper,  on  which 
was  written  with  a  pencil,  in  clear  but  rapid  handwriting, 
"A  stranger  who  has  found  Miss  Harleth's  necklace  returns 
it  to  her,  with  the  hope  that  she  will  not  again  risk  the  loss 
of  it." 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  21 

Gwendolen  reddened  with  the  vexation  of  wounded  pride. 
A  large  corner  of  the  handkerchief  seemed  to  have  been  reck- 
lessly torn  off  to  get  rid  of  a  mark ;  but  she  at  once  believed 
in  the  first  image  of  the  "  stranger  "  that  presented  itself  to  her 
mind.  It  was  Deronda ;  he  must  have  seen  her  go  into  the 
shop ;  he  must  have  gone  in  immediately  after,  and  redeemed 
the  necklace.  He  had  taken  an  unpardonable  liberty,  and  had 
dared  to  place  her  in  a  thoroughly  hateful  position.  What 
could  she  do?  Not,  assuredly,  act  on  her  conviction  that  it 
was  he  who  had  sent  her  the  necklace,  and  straightway  send  it 
back  to  him :  that  would  be  to  face  the  possibility  that  she  had 
been  mistaken;  nay,  even  if  the  "stranger"  were  he  and  no 
other,  it  w^ould  be  something  too  gross  for  her  to  let  him  know 
that  she  had  divined  this,  and  to  meet  him  again  with  th^t  rec- 
ognition in  their  minds.  He  knew  very  well  that  he  was  en- 
tangling her  in  helpless  humiliation :  it  was  another  way  of 
smiling  at  her  ironically,  and  taking  the  air  of  a  supercilious 
mentor.  Gw^endolen  felt  the  bitter  tears  of  mortification  ris- 
ing and  rolling  down  her  cheeks.  No  one  had  ever  before 
dared  to  treat  her  with  irony  and  contempt.  One  thing  was 
clear:  she  must  carry  out  her  resolution  to  quit  this  place  at 
once ;  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  re-appear  in  the  public  salon^ 
still  less  stand  at  the  gaming-table  with  the  risk  of  seeing  De- 
ronda. Now  came  an  importunate  knock  at  the  door :  break- 
fast was  ready.  Gwendolen  with  a  passionate  movement  thrust 
necklace,  cambric,  scrap  of  paper,  and  all  into  her  necessaire, 
pressed  her  handker-chief  against  her  face,  and,  after  pausing  a 
minute  or  two  to  summon  back  her  proud  self-control,  went  to 
join  her  friends.  Such  signs  of  tears  and  fatigue  as  were  left 
seemed  accordant  enough  with  the  account  she  at  once  gave  of 
her  having  been  called  home,  for  some  reason  which  she  feared 
might  be  a  trouble  of  her  m'arama's ;  and  of  her  having  sat  up 
to  do  her  packing,  instead  of  waiting  for  help  from  her  friend's 
maid.  There  was  much  protestation,  as  she  had  expected, 
against  her  traveling  alone,  but  she  persisted  in  refusing  any 
arrangements  for  companionship.  She  would  be  put  into  the 
ladies'  compartment,  and  go  right  on.  She  could  rest  exceed- 
ingly well  in  the  train,  and  was  afraid  of  nothing. 

In  this  way  it  happened  that  Gwendolen  never  re-appeared 


22  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

at  the  roulette -table,  but  set  off  that  Thursday  evening  for 
Brussels,  and  on  Saturday  morning  arrived  at  Offendene,  the 
home  to  Avhich  she  and  her  family  were  soon  to  say  a  last 
good-bye. 


8f       ■  ) 

CHAPTER  III. 

"  Let  no  flower  of  the  spring  pass  by  us :  let  us  crown  ourselves  with 
rose-buds  before  they  be  withered." — Book  of  Wisdo7n. 

Pity  that  Offendene  was  not  the  home  of  Miss  Harleth's 
childhood,  or  endeared  to  her  by  family  memories !  A  human 
life,  I  think,  should  be  well  rooted  in  some  spot  of  a  native 
land,  where  it  may  get  the  love  of  tender  kinship  for  the  face 
of  earth,  for  the  labors  men  go  forth  to,  for  the  sounds  and 
accents  that  haunt  it,  for  whatever  will  give  that  early  home 
a  familiar,  unmistakable  difference  amidst  the  future  widening 
of  knowledge :  a  spot  where  the  definiteness  of  early  memories 
may  be  inwrought  with  affection,  and  kindly  acquaintance  with 
all  neighbors,  even  to  the  dogs  and  donkeys,  may  spread,  not 
by  sentimental  effort  and  reflection,  but  as  a  sweet  habit  of  the 
blood.  At  five  years  old,  mortals  are  not  prepared  to  be  citi- 
zens of  the  world,  to  be  stimulated  by  abstract  nouns,  to  soar 
above  preference  into  impartiality ;  and  that  prejudice  in  fa- 
vor of  milk  with  which  we  blindly  begin,  is  a  type  of  the  way 
body  and  soul  must  get  nourished,  at  least  for  a  time.  The 
best  introduction  to  astronomy  is  to  think  of  the  nightly  heav- 
ens as  a  little  lot  of  stars  belonging  to  one's  own  homestead. 

But  this  blessed  persistence  in  which  affection  can  take  root 
had  been  wanting  in  Gwendolen's  life.  Offendene  had  been 
chosen  as  her  mamma's  home  simply  for  its  nearness  to  Penni- 
cote  Rectory,  and  it  was  only  the  year  before  that  Mrs.  Davi- 
low,  Gwendolen,  and  her  four  half  -  sisters  (the  governess  and 
the  maid  following  in  another  vehicle)  had  been  driven  along 
the  avenue  for  the  first  time  on  a  late  October  afternoon  when 
the  rooks  were  cawing  loudly  above  them,  and  the  yellow  elm- 
leaves  were  whirling. 

The  season  suited  the  aspect  of  the  old  oblong  red -brick 
house,  rather  too  anxiously  ornamented  with  stone  at  every 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  23 

line,  not  excepting  the  double  row  of  narrow  windows  and  the 
large  square  portico.  The  stone  encouraged  a  greenish  lichen, 
the  brick  a  powdery  gray ;  so  that  though  the  building  was 
rigidly  rectangular,  there  was  no  harshness  in  the  physiognomy 
which  it  turned  to  the  three  av  ;  cut  east,  west,  and  south 
in  the  hundred  yards'  breadth  oi  oiu  plantation  encircling  the 
immediate  grounds.  One  would  have  liked  the  house  to  have 
been  lifted  on  a  knoll,  so  as  to  look  be3^ond  its  own  little  do- 
main to  the  long  thatched  roofs  of  the  distant  villages,  the 
church  towers,  the  scattered  homesteads,  the  gradual  rise  of 
surging  woods,  and  the  green  breadths  of  undulating  park 
which  made  the  beautiful  face  of  the  earth  in  that  part  of 
Wessex.  But  though  standing  thus  behind  a  screen  amidst 
flat  pastures,  it  had  on  one  side  a  glimpse  of  the  wider  world 
in  the  lofty  curves  of  the  chalk  downs,  grand,  steadfast  forms 
played  over  by  the  changing  days. 

The  house  was  but  just  large  enough  to  be  called  a  mansion, 
and  was  moderately  rented,  having  no  manor  attached  to  it,  and 
being  rather  difficult  to  let  with  its  sombre  furniture  and  faded 
upholstery.     But  inside  and  outside  it  w^as  what  no  beholder 
could  suppose  to  be  inhabited  by  retired  trades-people :  a  cer- 
tainty which  was  worth  many  conveniences  to  tenants  who  not 
only  had  the  taste  that  shrinks  from  new  finery,  but  also  weru 
in  that  border-territory  of  rank  where  annexation  is  a  burning 
topic ;  and  to  take  up  her  abode  in  a  house  which  had  once 
sufficed  for  dowager  countesses  gave  a  perceptible  tinge  to  Mrs. 
Davilow's  satisfaction^ in  having  an  establishment  of  her  own. 
This,  rather  mysteriously  to  Gwendolen,  appeared  suddenly  pos- 
sible on  the  death  of  her  step-father.  Captain  Davilow,  who  had 
for  the  last  nine  years  joined  his  family  only  in  a  brief  and  fit- 
ful manner,  enough  to  reconcile  them  to  his  long  absences ;  but 
she  cared  much  more  for  the  fact  than  for  the  explanation.    All 
her  prospects  had  become  more  agreeable  in  consequence.    Sh» 
had  disliked  their  former  way  of  life,  roving  from  one  foreig 
watering-place  or  Parisian  apartment  to  another,  always  feelir 
new  antipathies  to  new  suites  of  hired  furniture,  and  meeti 
new  people  under  conditions  which  made  her  appear  of  li 
importance ;  and  the  variation  of  having  passed  two  year 
a  showy  school,  where  on  all  occasions  of  display  she  had 


24  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

• 

put  foremost,  had  only  deepened  her  sense  that  so  exceptional 
a  person  as  herself  could  hardly  remain  in  ordinary  circum- 
stances or  in  a  social  position  less  than  advantageous.  Any 
fear  of  this  latter  evil  was  banished,  now  that  her  mamma  was 
to  have  an  establishment ;  for  on  the  point  of  birth  Gwendolen 
was  quite  easy.  She  had  no  notion  hov/  her  maternal  grandfa- 
ther got  the  fortune  inherited  by  his  two  daughters;  but  he 
had  been  a  West  Indian  —  which  seemed  to  exclude  further 
question;  and  she  knew  that  her  father's  family  was  so  high 
as  to  take  no  notice  of  her  mamma,  who  nevertheless  preserved 
with  much  pride  the  miniature  of  a  Lady  Molly  in  that  con- 
nection. She  'would  probably  have  known  much  more  about 
her  father  but  for  a  little  incident  which  happened  when  she 
was  twelve  years  old.  Mrs.  Davilow  had  brought  out,  as  she 
did  only  at  wide  intervals,  various  memorials  of  her  first  hus- 
band, and  while  showing  his  miniature  to  Gwendolen  recalled 
with  a  fervor  which  seemed  to  count  on  a  peculiar  filial  sympa- 
thy the  fact  that  dear  papa  had  died  when  his  little  daughter 
was  in  long  clothes.  Gwendolen,  immediately  thinking  of  the 
unlovable  step-father  whom  she  had  been  acquainted  with  the 
greater  part  of  her  life  while  her  frocks  were  short,  said, 

"  Why  did  you  marry  again,  mamma  ?  It  would  have  been 
nicer  if  you  had  not." 

Mrs.  Davilow  colored  deeply,  a  slight  convulsive  movement 
passed  over  her  face,  and  straightway,  shutting  up  the  memori- 
als, she  said,  with  a  violence  quite  unusual  in  her, 

"  You  have  no  feeling,  child !" 

Gwendolen,  who  was  fond  of  her  mamma,  felt  hurt  and 
ashamed,  and  had  never  since  dared  to  ask  a  question  about 
her  father. 

This  was  not  the  only  instance  in  which  she  had  brought  on 
herself  the  pain  of  some  filial  compunction.  It  was  always  ar- 
ranged, when  possible,  that  she  should  have  a  small  bed  in  her 
lamma's  room ;  for  Mrs.  Davilow's  motherly  tenderness  clung 

liefly  to  her  eldest  girl,  who  had  been  born  in  her  happier 

le.     One  night,  under  an  attack  of  pain,  she  found  that  the 

-jific  regularly  placed  by  her  bedside  had  been  forgotten,  and 

^ed  Gwendolen  to  get  out  of  bed  and  reach  it  for  her.    That 

hy  young  lady,  snug  and  warm  as  a  rosy  infant  in  her  lit- 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  25 

tie  couch,  objected  to  step  out  into  the  cold,  and,  lying  perfect- 
ly still,  grumbled  a  refusal.  Mrs.  Davilow  went  without  the 
medicine,  and  never  reproached  her  daughter ;  but  the  next  day 
Gwendolen  was  keenly  conscious  of  what  must  be  in  her  mam- 
ma's mind,  and  tried  to  make  amends  by  caresses  which  cost 
her  no  effort.  Having  always  been  the  pet  and  pride  of  the 
household,  waited  on  by  mother,  sisters,  governess,  and  maids, 
as  if  she  had  been  a  princess  in  exile,  she  naturally  found  it  dif- 
ficult to  think  her  own  pleasure  less  important  than  others  made 
it,  and,  when  it  was  positively  thwarted,  felt  an  astonished  re- 
sentment, apt,  in  her  cruder  days,  to  vent  itself  in  one  of  those 
passionate  acts  which  look  like  a  contradiction  of  habitual  tend- 
encies. Though  never,  even  as  a  child,  thoughtlessly  cruel,  nay, 
delighting  to  rescue  drowning  insects  and  watch  their  recovery, 
;here  was  a  disagreeable,  silent  remembrance  of  her  having  stran- 
gled her  sister's  canary-bird  in  a  final  fit  of  exasperation  at  its 
shrill  singing  which  had  again  and  again  jarringly  interrupted 
her  own.  She  had  taken  pains  to  buy  a  white  mouse  for  her 
sister  in  retribution,  and  though  inwardly  excusing 'herself  on 
the  ground  of  a  peculiar  sensitiveness  which  was  a  mark  of  her 
general  superiority,  the  thought  of  that  infelonious  murder  had 
always  made  her  wince.  Gwendolen's  nature  was  not  remorse- 
less, but  she  liked  to  make  her  penances  easy,  and  now  that  she 
was  twenty  and  more,  some  of  her  native  force  had  turned  into 
a  self-control  by  which  she  guarded  herself  from  penitential  hu- 
miliation. There  was  more  show  of  fire  and  will  in  her  than 
ever,  but  there  was  more  calculation  underneath  it. 

On  thfs  day  of  arrival  at  Offendene,  which  not  even  Mrs. 
Davilow  had  seen  before — the  place  having  been  taken  for  her 
by  her  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Gascoigne — when  all  had  got  down 
from  the  carriage,  and  were  standing  under  the  porch  in  front 
of  the  open  door,  so  that  they  could  have  both  a  general  view 
of  the  place  and  a  glimpse  of  the  stone  hall  and  staircase  hung 
with  sombre  pictures,  but  enlivened  by  a  bright  wood  fire,  no 
one  spoke :  mamma,  the  four  sisters,  and  the  governess  all 
looked  at  Gwendolen,  as  if  their  feelings  depended  entirely  on 
her  decision.  Of  the  girls,  from  Alice  in  her  sixteeath  year  to 
Isabel  in  her  tenth,  hardly  any  thing  could  be  said  on  a  first 
view,  but  that  they  were  girlish,  and  that  their  black  dresses 

Vol.  I.— 2 


26  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

were  getting  shabby.  Miss  Merry  was  elderly,  and  altogether 
neutral  in  expression.  Mrs.  Davilow's  worn  beauty  seemed  the 
more  pathetic  for  the  look  of  entire  appeal  which  she  cast  at 
Gwendolen,  who  was  glancing  round  at  the  house,  the  land- 
scape, and  the  entrance  hall  with  an  air  of  rapid  judgment. 
Imagine  a  young  race-horse  in  the  paddock  among  untrimmed 
ponies  and  patient  hacks. 

"  Well,  dear,  what  do  you  think  of  the  place  ?"  said  Mrs.  Dav- 
ilow,  at  last,  in  a  gentle,  deprecatory  tone. 

"  I  think  it  is  charming,"  said  Gwendolen,  quickly.  "A  ro- 
mantic place ;  any  thing  delightful  may  happen  in  it ;  it  would 
be  a  good  background  for  any  thing.  No  one  need  be  ashamed 
of  living  here." 

*'  There  is  certainly  nothing  common  about  it." 

"  Oh,  it  would  do  for  fallen  royalty  or  any  sort  of  grand  pov- 
erty. We  ought  properly  to  have  been  living  in  splendor,  and 
have  come  down  to  this.  It  would  have  been  as  romantic  as 
could  be.  But  I  thought  my  uncle  and  aunt  Gascoigne  would 
be  here  to  meet  us,  and  my  cousin  Anna,"  added  Gwendolen, 
her  tone  changed  to  sharp  surprise. 

"  We  are  early,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  and,  entering  the  hall, 
she  said  to  the  housekeeper  who  came  forward,  "  You  expect 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gascoigne  ?" 

"  Yes,  madam :  they  were  here  yesterday  to  give  particular 
orders  about  the  fires  and  the  dinner.  But  as  to  fires,  I've  had 
'em  in  all  the  rooms  for  the  last  week,  and  every  thing  is  well 
aired.  I  could  wish  some  of  the  furniture  paid  better  for  all 
the  cleaning  it's  had,  but  I  think  you'll  see  the  brasses  have 
been  done  justice  to.  I  think  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gascoigne 
come,  they'll  tell  you  nothing's  been  neglected.  They'll  be 
here  at  five,  for  certain.'* 

This  satisfied  Gwendolen,  who  was  not  prepared  to  have  their 
arrival  treated  with  indifference ;  and  after  tripping  a  little  way 
up  the  matted  stone  staircase  to  take  a  survey  there,  she  tripped 
down  again,  and,  followed  by  all  the  girls,  looked  into  each  of 
the  rooms  opening  from  the  hall — the  dining-room,  all  dark  oak 
and  worn  red  satin  damask,  with  a  copy  of  snarling,  worrying 
dogs  from  Snyders  over  the  sideboard,  and  a  Christ  breaking 
bread  over  the  mantel-piece ;  the  library  with  a  general  aspec'j 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  27 

and  smell  of  old  brown  leather ;  and,  lastly,  the  drawing-room, 
which  was  entered  through  a  small  antechamber  crowded  with 
venerable  knickknacks. 

"  Mamma,  mamma,  pray  come  here !"  said  Gwendolen,  Mrs. 
Davilow  having  followed  slowly  in  talk  with  the  housekeeper. 
"  Here  is  an  organ !  I  will  be  Saint  Cecilia ;  some  one  shall 
paint  me  as  Saint  Cecilia.  Jocosa  (this  was  her  name  for  Miss 
Merry),  let  down  my  hair.     See,  mamma !" 

She  had  thrown  off  her  hat  and  gloves,  and  seated  herself  be' 
fore  the  organ  in  an  admirable  pose,  looking  upward;  while 
the  submissive  and  sad  Jocosa  took  out  the  one  comb  which 
fastened  the  coil  of  hair,  and  then  shook  out  the  mass  till  it  fell 
in  a  smooth  light-brown  stream  far  below  its  owner's  slim  waist. 

Mrs.  Davilow  smiled  and  said,  "A  charming  picture,  my 
dear !"  not  indifferent  to  the  display  of  her  pet,  even  in  the 
presence  of  a  housekeeper.  Gwendolen  rose  and  laughed  with 
delight.  All  this  seemed  quite  to  the  purpose  on  entering  a 
new  house  which  was  so  excellent  a  background. 

"  "WTiat  a  queer,  quaint,  picturesque  room !"  she  went  on, 
looking  about  her.  "  I  like  these  old  embroidered  chairs,  and 
the  garlands  on  the  wainscot,  and  the  pictures  that  may  be  any 
thing.  That  one  with  the  ribs — nothing  but  ribs  and  darkness 
— I  should  think  that  is  Spanish,  mamma." 

"  Oh,  Gwendolen  /"  said  the  small  Isabel,  in  a  tone  of  aston- 
ishment, while  she  held  open  a  hinged  panel  of  the  wainscot 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

Every  one,  Gwendolen  first,  went  to  look.  The  opened  panel 
had  disclosed  the  picture  of  an  upturned  dead  face,  from  which 
an  obscure  figure  seemed  to  be  fleeing  with  outstretched  arms. 
"  How  horrible !"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  with  a  look  of  mere  dis- 
gust ;  but  Gwendolen  shuddered  silently,  and  Isabel,  a  plain  and 
altogether  inconvenient  child  with  an  alarming  memory,  said, 

"You  will  never  stay  in  this  room  by  yourself,  Gwendo- 
len." 

"  How  dare  you  open  things  which  were  meant  to  be  shut 
up,  you  perverse  little  creature !"  said  Gwendolen,  in  her  angri- 
est tone.  Then,  snatching  the  panel  out  of  the  hand  of  the 
culprit,  she  closed  it  hastily,  saying,  "  There  is  a  lock — where 
is  the  key  ?    Let  the  key  be  found,  or  else  let  one  be  made, 


28  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

and  let  nobody  open  it  again ;  or,  rather,  let  the  key  be  brought 
to  me." 

At  this  command  to  every  body  in  general,  Gwendolen  turned 
with  a  face  which  was  flushed  in  reaction  from  her  chill  shud- 
der, and  said,  "  Let  us  go  up  to  our  own  room,  mamma." 

The  housekeeper,  on  searching,  found  the  key  in  the  drawer 
of  a  cabinet  close  by  the  panel,  and  presently  handed  it  to 
Bugle,  the  lady's  maid,  telling  her  significantly  to  give  it  to  her. 
Royal  Highness. 

"  I  don't  know  who  you  mean,  Mrs.  Startin,"  said  Bugle,  who 
had  been  busy  upstairs  during  the  scene  in  the  drawing-room, 
and  was  rather  offended  at  this  irony  in  a  new  servant. 

"  I  mean  the  young  lady  that's  to  command  us  all — and  well 
worthy  for  looks  and  figure,"  replied  Mrs.  Startin,  in  propitia- 
tion.    "  She'll  know  what  key  it  is." 

"  If  you  have  laid  out  what  we  want,  go  and  see  to  the  oth- 
ers, Bugle,"  Gwendolen  had  said,  when  she  and  Mrs.  Davilow 
entered  their  black-and-yellow  bedroom,  where  a  pretty  little 
white  couch  was  prepared  by  the  side  of  the  black-and-yellow 
catafalque  known  as  "  the  best  bed."     "  I  will  help  mamma." 

But  her  first  movement  was  to  go  to  the  tall  mirror  between 
the  windows,  which  reflected  herself  and  the  room  completely, 
while  her  mamma  sat  down  and  also  looked  at  the  reflection. 

"  That  is  a  becoming  glass,  Gwendolen ;  or  is  it  the  black- 
and-gold  color  that  sets  you  off  ?"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  as  Gwen- 
dolen stood  obliquely  with  her  three-quarter  face  turned  toward 
the  mirror,  and  her  left  hand  brushing  back  the  stream  of  hair. 

"  I  should  make  a  tolerable  Saint  Cecilia  with  some  white 
roses  on  my  head,"  said  Gwendolen — "  only,  how  about  my 
nose,  mamma  ?  I  think  saints'  noses  never  in  the  least  turn  up. 
I  wish  you  had  given  me  your  perfectly  straight  nose ;  it  would 
have  done  for  any  sort  of  character — a  nose  of  all  work.  Mine 
is  only  a  happy  nose  ;  it  would  not  do  so  well  for  tragedy." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  any  nose  will  do  to  be  miserable  with  in  this 
world,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  with  a  deep,  weary  sigh,  throwing 
her  black  bonnet  on  the  table,  and  resting  her  elbow  near  it. 

"  Now,  mamma !"  said  Gwendolen,  in  a  strongly  remonstrant 
tone,  turning  away  from  the  glass  with  an  air  of  vexation,  "  don't 
begin  to  be  dull  here.    It  spoils  all  my  pleasure,  and  every  thing 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  29 

may  be  so  happy  now.     What  have  you  to  be  gloomy  about 
now  r' 

"Nothing,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Da^-ilow,  seeming  to  rouse  her- 
self, and  beginning  to  take  off  her  dress.  "  It  is  always  enough 
for  me  to  see  you  happy." 

"But  you  should  be  happy  yourself,"  said  Gwendolen,  still 
discontentedly,  though  going  to  help  her  mamma  with  caressing 
touches.  "  Can  nobody  be  happy  after  they  are  quite  young  ? 
You  have  made  me  feel  sometimes  as  if  nothing  were  of  any 
use.  With  the  girls  so  troublesome,  and  Jocosa  so  dreadfully 
wooden  and  ugly,  and  every  thing  make -shift  about  us,  and 
you  looking  so  dull — what  was  the  use  of  my  being  any  thing  ? 
But  now  you  might  be  happy." 

"  So  I  shall,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  patting  the  cheek  that 
was  bending  near  her. 

"  Yes,  but  really.  Not  with  a  sort  of  make-believe,"  said 
Gwendolen,  with  resolute  perseverance.  "  See  what  a  hand  and 
arm ! — much  more  beautiful  than  mine.  Any  one  can  see  you 
were  altogether  more  beautiful." 

"  No,  no,  dear.  I  was  always  heavier.  Never  half  so  charm- 
ing as  you  are." 

"  Well,  but-  what  is  the  use  of  my  being  charming,  if  it  is  to 
end  in  my  being  dull  and  not  minding  any  thing?  Is  that 
what  marriage  always  comes  to  ?" 

"  No,  child,  certainly  not.  Marriage  is  the  only  happy  state 
for  a  woman,  as  I  trust  you  will  prove." 

"  I  will  not  put  up  with  it  if  it  is  not  a  happy  state.  I  am 
determined  to  be  happy — at  least  not  to  go  on  muddling  away 
my  life  as  other  people  do,  being  and  doing  nothing  remarka- 
ble. I  have  made  up  my  mind  not  to  let  other  people  inter- 
fere with  me  as  they  have  done.  Here  is  some  warm  water 
ready  for  you,  mamma,"  Gwendolen  ended,  proceeding  to  take 
off  her  own  dress,  and  then  waiting  to  have  her  hair  wound  up 
by  her  mamma. 

There  was  silence  for  a  minute  or  two,  till  Mrs.  Davilow  said, 
while  coiling  the  daughter's  hair,  "  I  am  sure  I  have  never 
crossed  you,  Gwendolen." 

"  You  often  want  me  to  do  what  I  don't  like." 

"  You  mean,  to  give  Alice  lessons  V 


30  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  Yes.  And  I  have  done  it  because  you  asked  me.  But  I 
don't  see  why  I  should,  else.  It  bores  me  to  death,  she  is  so 
slow.  She  has  no  ear  for  music,  or  language,  or  any  thing 
else.  It  would  be  much  better  for  her  to  be  ignorant,  mamma : 
it  is  her  role  ;  she  would  do  it  well." 

"  That  is  a  hard  thing  to  say  of  your  poor  sister,  Gwendolen, 
who  is  so  good  to  you,  and  waits  on  you  hand  and  foot." 

"I  don't  see  why  it  is  hard  to  call  things  by  their  right 
names  and  put  them  in  their  proper  places.  The  hardship  is 
for  me  to  have  to  waste  my  time  on  her.  Now  let  me  fasten 
up  your  hair,  mamma." 

"  We  must  make  haste.  Your  uncle  and  aunt  will  be  here 
soon.  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  be  scornful  to  them,  my  dear 
child,  or  to  your  cousin  Anna,  whom  you  will  always  be  going 
out  with.  Do  promise  me,  Gwendolen.  You  know,  you  can't 
expect  Anna  to  be  equal  to  you." 

"  I  don't  want  her  to  be  equal,"  said  Gwendolen,  with  a  toss 
of  her  head  and  a  smile ;  and  the  discussion  ended  there. 

When  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gascoigne  and  their  daugliter  came, 
Gwendolen,  far  from  being  scornful,  behaved  as  prettily  as  pos- 
sible to  them.  She  was  introducing  herself  anew  to  relatives 
who  had  not  seen  her  since  the  comparatively  unfinished  age 
of  sixteen,  and  she  was  anxious — no,  not  anxious,  but  resolved 
that  they  should  admire  her. 

Mrs.  Gascoigne  bore  a  family  likeness  to  her  sister.  But  she 
was  darker  and  slighter,  her  face  was  unworn  by  grief,  her 
movements  were  less  languid,  her  expression  more  alert  and 
critical  as  that  of  a  rector's  wife  bound  to  exert  a  beneficent 
authority.  Their  closest  resemblance  lay  in  a  non-resistant  dis- 
position, inclined  to  imitation  and  obedience ;  but  this,  owing 
to  the  difference  in  their  circumstances,  had  led  them  to  very 
different  issues.  The  younger  sister  had  been  indiscreet,  or  at 
least  unfortunate,  in  her  marriages;  the  elder  believed  herself 
the  most  enviable  of  wives,  and  her  pliancy  had  ended  in  her 
sometimes  taking  shapes  of  surprising  definiteness.  Many  of 
her  opinions,  such  as  those  on  church  government  and  the 
character  of  Archbishop  Laud,  seemed  too  decided  under  every 
alteration  to  have  been  arrived  at  otherwise  than  by  a  wifely 
receptiveness.     And  there  was  much  to  encourage  trust  in  her 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  31 

husband's  authority.  He  had  some  agreeable  virtues,  some 
striking  advantages,  and  the  failings  that  were  imputed  to  him 
all  leaned  toward  the  side  of  success. 

One  of  his  advantages  was  a  fine  person,  which  perhaps  was 
even  more  impressive  at  fifty-seven  than  it  had  been  earlier  in 
life.  There  were  no  distinctively  clerical  lines  in  ^he  face,  no 
oflScial  reserve  or  ostentatious  benignity  of  expression,  no  tricks 
of  starchiness  or  of  affected  ease :  in  his  Inverness  cape  he 
could  not  have  been  identified  except  as  a  gentleman  with 
liandsome  dark  features,  a  nose  which  began  with  an  intention 
to  be  aquiline,  but  suddenly  became  straight,  and  iron-gray  hair. 
Perhaps  he  owed  this  freedom  from  the  sort  of  professional 
make-up  which  penetrates  skin,  tones,  and  gestures,  and  defies  all 
drapery,  to  the  fact  that  he  had  once  been  Captain  Gaskin,  hav- 
ing taken  orders  and  a  diphthong  but  shortly  before  his  en- 
gagement to  Miss  Armyn.  K  any  one  had  objected  that  his 
preparation  for  the  clerical  function  was  inadequate,  his  friends 
might  have  asked  who  made  a  better  figure  in  it,  who  preached 
better  or  had  more  authority  in  his  parish  ?  He  had  a  native 
gift  for  administration,  being  tolerant  both  of  opinions  and 
conduct,  because  he  felt  himself  able  to  overrule  them,  and  was 
free  from  the  irritations  of  conscious  feebleness.  He  smiled 
pleasantly  at  the  foible  of  a  taste  which  he  did  not  share — at 
floriculture  or  antiquarianism,  for  example,  which  was  much  in 
vogue  among  his  fellow-clergymen  in  the  diocese :  for  himself, 
he  preferred  following  the  history  of  a  campaign,  or  divining 
from  his  knowledge  of  Nesselrode's  motives  what  would  have 
been  his  conduct  if  our  cabinet  had  taken  a  different  course. 
Mr.  Gascoigne's  tone  of*  thinking,  after  some  long-quieted  fluct- 
uations, had  become  ecclesiastical  rather  than  theological ;  not 
the  modern  Anglican,  but  what  he  would  have  called  sound  En- 
glish, free  from  nonsense ;  such  as  became  a  man  who  looked 
at  a  national  religion  by  daylight,  and  saw  it  in  its  relations  to 
other  things.  No  clerical  magistrate  had  greater  w^eight  at  ses- 
sions, or  less  of  mischievous  impracticableness  in  relation  to 
worldly  affairs.  Indeed,  the  worst  imputation  thrown  out 
against  him  was  worldliness ;  it  could  not  be  proved  that  he 
forsook  the  less  fortunate,  but  it  was  not  to  be  denied  that  the 
friendships  he  cultivated  were  of  a  kind  likely  to  be  useful  to 


S2  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

the  father  of  six  sons  and  two  daughters ;  and  bitter  observers 
— for  in  Wessex,  say  ten  years  ago,  there  were  persons  whose 
bitterness  may  now  seem  incredible — remarked  that  the  color 
of  his  opinions  had  changed  in  consistency  with  this  principle 
of  action.  But  cheerful,  successful  worldliness  has  a  false  air 
of  being  more  selfish  than  the  acrid,  unsuccessful  kind,  whose 
secret  history  is  summed  up  in  the  terrible  words,  "  Sold,  but 
not  paid  for." 

Gwendolen  wondered  that  she  had  not  better  remembered' 
how  very  fine  a  man  her  uncle  was ;  but  at  the  age  of  sixteen 
she  was  a  less  capable  and  more  indifferent  judge.  At  present 
it  was  a  matter  of  extreme  interest  to  her  that  she  was  to  have 
the  near  countenance  of  a  dignified  male  relative,  and  that  the 
family  life  would  cease  to  be  entirely,  insipidly  feminine.  She 
did  not  intend  that  her  uncle  should  control  her,  but  she  saw 
at  once  that  it  would  be  altogether  agreeable  to  her  that  he 
should  be  proud  of  introducing  her  as  his  niece.  And  there 
was  every  sign  of  his  being  likely  to  feel  that  pride.  He  cer- 
tainly looked  at  her  with  admiration  as  he  said, 

"  You  have  outgrown  Anna,  my  dear,"  putting  his  arm  ten- 
derly  round  his  daughter,  whose  shy  face  was  a  tiny  copy  of 
his  own,  and  drawing  her  forward.  "  She  is  not  so  old  as  you 
by  a  year,  but  her  growing  days  are  certainly  over.  I  hope 
you  will  be  excellent  companions." 

He  did  give  a  comparing  glance  at  his  daughter;  but  if  he 
saw  her  inferiority,  he  might  also  see  that  Anna's  timid  appear- 
ATice  and  miniature  figure  must  appeal  to  a  different  taste  from 
that  which  was  attracted  by  Gwendolen,  and  that  the  girls 
could  hardly  be  rivals.  Gwendolen,  at  least,  was  aware  of  this, 
and  kissed  her  cousin  with  real  cordiality  as  well  as  grace,  say- 
ino",  "A  companion  is  just  what  I  want.  I  am  so  glad  we  are 
come  to  live  here.  And  mamma  will  be  much  happier  now 
she  is  near  you,  aunt." 

Tlie  aunt  trusted  indeed  that  it  would  be  so,  and  felt  it  a 
blessing  that  a  suitable  home  had  been  vacant  in  their  uncle's 
parish.  Then,  of  course,  notice  had  to  be  taken  of  the  four 
other  girls  Avhom  Gwendolen  had  always  felt  to  be  superfluous : 
all  of  a  girlish  average  that  made  four  units  utterly  unimpor- 
tant, and  yet  from  her  earliest  days  an  obtrusive  influential  fact 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  33 

in  her  life.  She  was  conscious  of  having  been  much  kinder  to 
them  than  could  have  been  expected.  And  it  was  evident  to 
her  that  her  uncle  and  aunt  also  felt  it  a  pity  there  were  so 
many  girls.  ^Yhat  rational  person  could  feel  otherwise,  except 
poor  mamma,  who  never  would  see  how  Alice  set  up  her  shoul- 
ders and  lifted  her  eyebrows  till  she  had  no  forehead  left,  how 
Bertha  and  Fanny  whispered  and  tittered  together  about  every 
thing,  or  how  Isabel  was  always  listening  and  staring  and  for- 
getting where  she  was,  and  treading  on  the  toes  of  her  suffer- 
ing elders  ? 

"  You  have  brothers,  Anna,"  said  Gwendolen,  while  the  sis- 
ters were  being  noticed.     "  I  think  you  are  enviable  there." 

"  Yes,"  said  Anna,  simply,  "  I  am  very  fond  of  them.  But, 
of  course,  their  education  is  a  great  anxiety  to  papa.  He  used 
to  say  they  made  me  a  tomboy.  I  really  was  a  great  romp 
with  Rex.  I  think  you  will  like  Rex.  He  will  come  home 
before  Christmas." 

"  I  remember  I  used  to  think  you  rather  wild  and  shy.  But 
it  is  difficult  now  to  imagine  you  a  romp,"  said  Gwendolen, 
smiling. 

"  Of  course  I  am  altered  now ;  I  am  come  out,  and  all  that. 
But  in  reality  I  like  to  go  blackberrying  with  Edwy  and  Lotta 
as  well  as  ever.  I  am  not  very  fond  of  going  out ;  but  I  dare 
say  I  shall  like  it  better  now  you  will  be  often  with  me.  I  am 
not  at  all  clever,  and  I  never  know  what  to  say.  It  seems  so 
useless  to  say  what  every  body  knows,  and  I  can  think  of  noth- 
ing else,  except  what  papa  says." 

"  I  shall  like  going  out  with  you  very  much,"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, well  disposed  toward  this  naive  cousin.  "  Are  you  fond 
of  riding?" 

"Yes,  but  we  have  only  one  Shetland  pony  among  us. 
Papa  says  he  can't  afford  more,  besides  the  carriage-horses  and 
his  own  nag.     He  has  so  many  expenses." 

"  I  intend  to  have  a  horse,  and  ride  a  great  deal  now,"  said 
Gwendolen,  in  a  tone  of  decision.  "  Is  the  society  pleasant  in 
this  neighborhood  ?" 

"  Papa  says  it  is,  very.  There  are  the  clergjTnen  all  about, 
you  know ;  and  the  Quallons  and  the  Arrowpoints,  and  Lord 
Brackenshaw,  and  Sir  Hugo  Mallinger's  place,  where  there  is 

2* 


34  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

nobody — that's  very  nice,  because  we  make  picnics  there — and 
two  or  three  families  at  Wancester ;  oh,  and  old  Mrs.  Vulcany 
at  Nuttingwood,  and — " 

But  Anna  was  relieved  of  this  tax  on  her  descriptive  powers 
by  the  announcement  of  dinner,  and  Gwendolen's  question 
was  soon  indirectly  answered  by  her  uncle,  who  dwelt  much  on 
the  advantages  he  had  secured  for  them  in  getting  a  place  like 
Offendene.  Except  the  rent,  it  involved  no  more  expense  than 
an  ordinary  house  at  Wancester  would  have  done. 

"And  it  is  always  worth  while  to  make  a  little  sacrifice  for  a 
good  style  of  house,"  said  Mr.  Gascoigne,  in  his  easy,  pleasantly 
confident  tone,  which  made  the  world  in  general  seem  a  very 
manageable  place  of  residence.  "Especially  where  there  is 
only  a  lady  at  the  head.  All  the  best  people  will  call  upon 
you ;  and  you  need  give  no  expensive  dinners.  Of  course,  I 
have  to  spend  a  good  deal  in  that  way ;  it  is  a  large  item.  But, 
then,  I  get  my  house  for  nothing.  If  I  had  to  pay  three  hun- 
dred a  year  for  my  house,  I  could  not  keep  a  table.  My  boys 
are  too  great  a  drain  on  me.  You  are  better  off  than  we  are, 
in  proportion ;  there  is  no  great  drain  on  you  now,  after  your 
house  and  carriage." 

"  I  assure  you,  Fanny,  now  the  children  are  growing  up,  I 
am  obliged  to  cut  and  contrive,"  said  Mrs.  Gascoigne.  "  I  am 
not  a  good  manager  by  nature,  but  Henry  has  taught  me.  He 
is  wonderful  for  making  the  best  of  every  thing;  he  allows 
himself  no  extras,  and  gets  his  curates  for  nothing.  It  is  rath- 
er hard  that  he  has  not  been  made  a  prebendary  or  something, 
as  others  have  been,  considering  the  friends  he  has  made,  and 
the  need  there  is  for  men  of  moderate  opinions  in  all  respects. 
If  the  Church  is  to  keep  its  position,  ability  and  character  ought 
to  tell." 

"Oh,  my  dear  Nancy,  you  forget  the  old  story  —  thank 
Heaven,  there  are  three  hundred  as  good  as  I.  And  ultimate- 
ly we  shall  have  no  reason  to  complain,  I  am  pretty  sure. 
There  could  hardly  be  a  more  thorough  friend  than  Lord 
Brackenshaw,  your  landlord,  you  know,  Fanny.  Lady  Brack- 
enshaw  will  call  upon  you.  And  I  have  spoken  for  Gwendolen 
to  be  a  member  of  our  Archery  Club — the  Brackenshaw  Arch- 
ery Club  —  the  most  select  thing  anywhere.      That  is,  if  she 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  35 

has  no  objection,"  added  Mr.  Gascoigne,  looking  at  Gwendolen 
with  pleasant  irony. 

"  I  should  like  it  of  all  things,"  said  Gwendolen.  "  Tliere  is 
nothing  I  enjoy  more  than  taking  aim — and  hitting,"  she  end- 
ed, with  a  pretty  nod  and  smile. 

"Our  Anna,  poor  child,  is  too  short-sighted  for  archery. 
But  I  consider  myself  a  first-rate  shot,  and  you  shall  practice 
with  me.  I  must  make  you  an  accomplished  archer  before  our 
great  meeting  in  July.  In  fact,  as  to  neighborhood,  you  could 
hardly  be  better  placed.  There  are  the  Arrowpoints — they  are 
some  of  our  best  people.  Miss  Arrowpoint  is  a  delightful  girl : 
she  has  been  presented  at  court.  They  have  a  magnificent 
place  —  Quetcham  Hall  —  worth  seeing  in  point  of  art;  and 
their  parties,  to  which  you  are  sure  to  be  invited,  are  the  best 
things  of  the  sort  we  have.  The  archdeacon  is  intimate  there, 
and  they  have  always  a  good  kind  of  people  staying  in  the 
house.  Mrs.  Arrowpoint  is  peculiar,  certainly ;  something  of 
a  caricature,  in  fact ;  but  well-meaning.  And  Miss  Arrowpoint 
is  as  nice  as  possible.  It  is  not  all  young  ladies  who  have 
mothers  as  handsome  and  graceful  as  yours  and  Anna's." 

Mrs.  Davilow  smiled  faintly  at  this  little  compliment,  but 
the  husband  and  wife  looked  affectionately  at  each  other,  and 
Gwendolen  thought,  "  My  uncle  and  aunt,  at  least,  are  happy ; 
they  are  not  dull  and  dismal."  Altogether,  she  felt  satisfied 
with  her  prospects  at  Offendene,  as  a  great  improvement  on 
any  thing  she  had  known.  Even  the  cheap  curates,  she  inci- 
dentally learned,  were  almost  always  young  men  of  family,  ^nd 
Mr.  Middleton,  the  actual  curate,  was  said  to  be  quite  an  acqui- 
sition :  it  was  only  a  pity  he  was  so  soon  to  leave. 

But  there  was  one  point  which  she  was  so  anxious  to  gain 
that  she  could  not  allow  the  evening  to  pass  without  taking 
her  measures  toward  securing  it.  Her  mamma,  she  knew,  in- 
tended to  submit  entirely  to  her  uncle's  judgment  with  regard 
to  expenditure ;  and  the  submission  was  not  merely  prudential, 
for  Mrs.  Davilow,  conscious  that  she  had  always  been  seen  un- 
der a  cloud  as  poor  dear  Fanny,  who  had  made  a  sad  blunder 
with  her  second  marriage,  felt  a  hearty  satisfaction  in  being 
frankly  and  cordially  identified  with  her  sister's  family,  and  in 
having  her  affairs  canvassed  and  managed  with  an  authority 


36  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

which  presupposed  a  genuine  interest.  Thus  the  question  of  a 
suitable  saddle-horse,  which  had  been  sufficiently  discussed  with 
mamma,  had  to  be  referred  to  Mr.  Gascoigne ;  and  after  Gwen- 
dolen had  played  on  the  piano,  which  had  been  provided  from 
Wancester,  had  sung  to  her  hearers'  admiration,  and  had  in- 
duced her  uncle  to  join  her  in  a  duet — what  more  softening  in- 
fluence than  this  on  any  uncle  who  would  have  sung  finely  if 
his  time  had  not  been  too  much  taken  up  by  graver  matters  ? — 
she  seized  the  opportune  moment  for  saying, "  Mamma,  you 
have  not  spoken  to  my  uncle  about  my  riding." 

"  Gwendolen  desires  above  all  things  to  have  a  horse  to  ride 
— a  pretty,  light,  lady's  horse,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  looking  at 
Mr.  Gascoigne.     "  Do  you  think  we  can  manage  it  ?" 

Mr.  Gascoigne  projected  his  lower  lip  and  lifted  his  hand- 
some eyebrows  sarcastically  at  Gwendolen,  who  had  seated  her^ 
self  with  much  grace  on  the  elbow  of  her  mamma's  chair. 

"We  could  lend  her  the  pony  sometimes,"  said  Mrs. Gas- 
coigne, watching  her  husband's  face,  and  feeling  quite  ready  to 
disapprove  if  he  did. 

"  That  might  be  inconveniencing  others,  aunt,  and  would  be 
no  pleasure  to  me.  I  can  not  endure  ponies,"  said  Gwendolen. 
"I  would  rather  give  up  some  other  indulgence  and  have  a 
•horse."  (Was  there  ever  a  young  lady  or  gentleman  not  ready 
to  give  up  an  unspecified  indulgence  for  the  sake  of  the  favor- 
ite one  specified  ?) 

"She  rides  so  well.  She  has  had  lessons,  and  the  riding- 
master  said  she  had  so  good  a  seat  and  hand  she  might  be 
trusted  with  any  mount,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  who,  even  if  she 
had  not  wished  her  darling  to  have  the  horse,  would  not  have 
dared  to  be  lukewarm  in  trying  to  get  it  for  her. 

"  There  is  the  price  of  the  horse — a  good  sixty  with  the  best 
chance,  and  then  his  keep,"  said  Mr.  Gascoigne,  in  a  tone  which, 
though  demurring,  betrayed  the  inward  presence  of  something 
that  favored  the  demand.  "There  are  the  carriage-horses — 
already  a  heavy  'item.  And  remember  what  you  ladies  cost  in 
toilet  now." 

"I  really  wear  nothing  but  two  black  dresses,"  said  Mrs. 
Davilow,  hastily.  "And  the  younger  girls,  of  course,  require 
no  toilet  at  present.    Besides,  Gwendolen  will  save  me  so  m^ch 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  37 

by  giving  her  sisters  lessons."  Here  Mrs.  Davilow's  delicate 
cheek  showed  a  rapid  blush.  "  If  it  were  not  for  that,  I  must 
really  have  a  more  expensive  governess,  and  masters  besides." 

Gwendolen  felt  some  anger  with  her  mamma,  but  carefully 
concealed  it. 

"  That  is  good — that  is  decidedly  good,"  said  Mr.  Gascoigne, 
heartily,  looking  at  his  wife.  And  Gwendolen,  who,  it  must  be 
owned,  w^as  a  de^  young  lady,  suddenly  moved  away  to  the 
other  end  of  the  long  drawing-room,  and  busied  herself  with 
arranging  pieces  of  music. 

"  The  dear  child  has  had  no  indulgences,  no  pleasures,"  said 
Mrs.  Davilow,  in  a  pleading  under-tone.  "  I  feel  the  expense  is 
rather  imprudent  in  this  first  year  of  our  settling.  But  she  real- 
ly needs  the  exercise — she  needs  cheering.  And  if  you  were  to 
see  her  on  horseback,  it  is  something  splendid." 

"  It  is  what  we  could  not  afford  for  Anna,"  said  Mrs.  Gas- 
coigne. "But  she,  dear  child,  would  ride  Lotta's  donkey,  and 
tliink  it  good  enough."  (Anna  was  absorbed  in  a  game  with 
Isabel,  who  had  hunted  out  an  old  backgammon-board,  and  had 
begged  to  sit  up  an  extra  hour.) 

*'  Certainly,  a  fine  woman  never  looks  better  than  on  horse- 
back," said  Mr.  Gascoigne.  "And  Gwendolen  has  the  figure 
for  it.     I  don't  say  the  thing  should  not  be  considered." 

"  We  might  try  it  for  a  time,  at  all  events.  It  can  be  given 
up,  if  necessary,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow. 

"  Well,  I  will  consult  Lord  Brackenshaw's  head-groom.  He 
is  my  Jidus  Achates  in  the  horsey  way." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  much  relieved.  "  You  are  very 
kind." 

"  That  he  always  is,"  said  Mrs.  Gascoigne.  And  later  that 
night,  when  she  and  her  husband  were  in  private,  she  said, 

"  I  thought  you  were  almost  too  indulgent  about  the  horse 
for  Gwendolen.  She  ought  not  to  claim  so  much  more  than 
your  own  daughter  would  think  of.  Especially  before  we  see 
how  Fanny  manages  on  her  income.  And  you  really  have 
enough  to  do  without  taking  all  this  trouble  on  yourself." 

"  My  dear  Nancy,  one  must  look  at  things  from  every  point 
of  view.  This  girl  is  really  worth  some  expense :  you  don't 
often  see  her  equal.     She  ought  to  make  a  first-rate  marriage, 


38  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

and  I  should  not  be  doing  my  duty  if  I  spared  my  trouble  in 
helping  her  forward.  You  know  yourself  she  has  been  under 
a  disadvantage  with  such  a  father-in-law,  and  a  second  family, 
keeping  her  always  in  the  shade.  I  feel  for  the  girl.  And  I 
should  like  your  sister  and  her  family  now  to  have  the  benefit 
of  your  having  married  rather  a  better  specimen  of  our  kind 
than  she  did." 

"  Rather  better !  I  should  think  so.  However,  it  is  for  me 
to  be  grateful  that  you  will  take  so  much  on  your  shoulders  for 
the  sake  of  my  sister  and  her  children.  I  am  sure  I  would  not 
grudge  any  thing  to  poor  Fanny.  But  there  is  one  thing  I 
have  been  thinking  of,  though  you  have  never  mentioned  it." 

"What  is, that?" 

"  The  boys.  I  hope  they  will  not  be  falling  in  love  with 
Gwendolen." 

"  Don't  presuppose  any  thing  of  the  kind,  my  dear,  and  there 
will  be  no  danger.  Rex  will  never  be  at  home  for  long  to- 
gether, and  Warham  is  going  to  India.  It  is  the  wiser  plan  to 
take  it  for  granted  that  cousins  will  not  fall  in  love.  If  you 
begin  with  precautions,  the  affair  will  come  in  spite  of  them. 
One  must  not  undertake  to  act  for  Providence  in  these  matters, 
which  can  no  more  be  held  under  the  hand  than  a  brood  of 
chickens.  The  boys  will  have  nothing,  and  Gwendolen  will 
have  nothing.  They  can't  marry.  At  the  worst,  there  would 
only  be  a  little  crying,  and  you  can't  save  boys  and  girls  from 
that." 

Mrs.  Gascoigne's  mind  was  satisfied :  if  any  thing  did  happen, 
there  was  the  comfort  of  feeling  that  her  husband  would  know 
what  was  to  be  done,  and  would  have  the  energy  to  do  it. 


BOOK    1." — THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  39 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Gorgibus Je  te  dis  que  le  mariage  est  une  chose  sainte  et  sacree, 

et  que  c'est  faire  en  honnetes  gens,  que  de  debuter  par  1^. 

'''■Maddon.  Mon  Dieu  !  que  si  tout  le  monde  vous  ressemblait,  un  roman 
serait  bientot  fini !  La  belle  chose  que  ce  serait,  si  d'abord  Cyrus  epousait 
Mandane,  et  qu'Aronce  de  plain-pied  fut  marie  h.  Clelie!.  ,  ,  .Laissez-noua 
faire  h.  loisir  le  tissu  de  notre  roman,  et  n'en  pressez  pas  tant  la  conclusion." 
— MoLiERE :  Les  Precieuses  Ridicules. 

It  would  be  a  little  hard  to  blame  the  rector  of  Pennicote 
that  in  the  course  of  looking  at  things  from  every  point  of 
view,  he  looked  at  Gwendolen  as  a  girl  likely  to  make  a  brilliant 
marriage.  Why  should  he  be  expected  to  differ  from  his  con- 
temporaries in  this  matter,  and  wish  his  niece  a  worse  end  of 
her  charming  maidenhood  than  they  would  approve  as  the  best 
possible  ?  It  is  rather  to  be  set  down  to  his  credit  that  his  feel- 
ings on  the  subject  were  entirely  good-natured.  And  in  con- 
sidering the  relation  of  means  to  ends,  it  would  have  been  mere 
folly  to  have  been  guided  by  the  exceptional  and  idylHc  —  to 
have  recommended  that  Gwendolen  should  wear  a  gown  as 
shabby  as  Griselda's  in  order  that  a  marquis  might  fall  in  love 
with  her,  or  to  have  insisted  that,  since  a  fair  maiden  was  to 
be  sought,  she  should  keep  herself  out  of  the  way.  Mr.  Gas- 
coigne's  calculations  were  of  the  kind  called  rational,  and  he 
did  not  even  think  of  getting  a  too  frisky  horse  in  order  that 
Gwendolen  might  be  threatened  with  an  accident  and  be  res- 
cued by  a  man  of  property.  He  wished  his  niece  well,  and  he 
meant  her  to  be  seen  to  advantage  in  the  best  society  of  the 
neighborhood. 

Her  uncle's  intention  fell  in  perfectly  with  Gwendolen's  own 
wishes.  But  let  no  one  suppose  that  she  also  contemplated  a 
brilliant  marriage  as  the  direct  end  of  her  witching  the  world 
with  her  grace  on  horseback,  or  with  any  other  accomplish- 
ment. That  she  was  to  be  married  some  time  or  other,  she 
would  have  felt  obliged  to  admit ;  and  that  her  marriage  would 


40  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

not  be  of  a  middling  kind,  such,  as  most  girls  were  content- 
ed with,  she  felt  quietly,  unargumentatively  sure.  But  her 
thoughts  never  dwelt  on  marriage  as  the  fulfillment  of  her  am- 
bition; the  dramas  in  which  she  imagined  herself  a  heroine 
were  not  wrought  up  to  that  close.  To  be  very  much  sued  or 
hopelessly  sighed  for  as  a  bride  was  indeed  an  indispensable 
and  agreeable  guarantee  of  womanly  power ;  but  to  become  a 
wife,  and  wear  all  the  domestic  fetters  of  that  condition,  was, 
on  the  whole,  a  vexatious  necessity.  Her  observation  of  mat- 
rimony had  inclined  her  to  think  it  rather  a  dreary  state,  in 
which  a  woman  could  not  do  what  she  liked,  had  more  children 
than  were  desirable,  was  consequently  dull,  and  became  irrevo- 
cably immersed  in  humdrum.  Of  course  marriage  was  social 
promotion ;  she  could  not  look  forward  to  a  single  life ;  but 
promotions  have  sometimes  to  be  taken  with  bitter  herbs — a 
peerage  will  not  quite  do  instead  of  leadership  to  the  man  who 
meant  to  lead ;  and  this  delicate-limbed  sylph  of  twenty  meant 
to  lead.  For  such  passions  dwell  in  feminine  breasts  also.  In 
Gwendolen's,  however,  they  dwelt  among  strictly  feminine  fur- 
niture, and  had  no  disturbing  reference  to  the  advancement  of 
learning  or  the  balance  of  the  constitution;  her  knowledge 
being  such  as,  with  no  sort  of  standing-room  or  length  of  lever, 
could  have  been  expected  to  move  the  world.  She  meant  to 
do  what  was  pleasant  to  herself  in  a  striking  manner ;  or,  rath- 
er, whatever  she  could  do  so  as  to  strike  others  with  admira- 
tion, and  get  in  that  reflected  way  a  more  ardent  sense  of  liv- 
ing, seemed  pleasant  to  her  fancy. 

"  Gwendolen  will  not  rest  without  having  the  world  at  her 
feet,"  said  Miss  Merry,  the  meek  governess — hyperbolical  words 
which  have  long  come  to  carry  the  most  moderate  meanings ; 
for  who  has  not  heard  of  private  persons  having  the  world  at 
their  feet  in  the  shape  of  some  half-dozen  items  of  flattering 
regard  generally  known  in  a  genteel  suburb  ?  And  words  could 
hardly  be  too  wide  or  vague  to  indicate  the  prospect  that  made 
a  hazy  largeness  about  poor  Gwendolen  on  the  heights  of  her 
young  self -exultation.  Other  people  allowed  themselves  to  be 
made  slaves  of,  and  to  have  their  lives  blown  hither  and  thither 
like  empty  ships  in  which  no  will  was  present :  it  was  not  to 
be  so  with  her ;  she  would  no  longer  be  sacrificed  to  creatures 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  41 

worth  less  than  herself,  but  would  make  the  very  best  of  the 
chances  that  life  offered  her,  and  conquer  circumstance  by  her 
exceptional  cleverness.  Certainly,  to  be  settled  at  Offendenc, 
with  the  notice  of  Lady  Brackenshaw,  the  archery  club,  and  in- 
vitations to  dine  with  the  Arrowpoints,  as  the  highest  lights  in 
her  scenery,  "was  not  a  position  that  seemed  to  offer  remarka- 
ble chances ;  but  Gwendolen's  confidence  lay  chiefly  in  herself. 
She  felt  well  equipped  for  the  mastery  of  life.  With  regard 
to  much  in  her  lot  hitherto,  she  held  herself  rather  hardly  dealt 
with ;  but  as  to  her  "  education,"  she  would  have  admitted  that 
it  had  left  her  under  no  disadvantages.  In  the  school-room 
her  quick  mind  had  taken  readily  that  strong  starch  of  unex- 
plained rules  and  disconnected  facts  which  saves  ignorance 
from  any  painful  sense  of  limpness ;  and  what  remained  of  all 
things  knowable,  she  was  conscious  of  being  suflSciently  ac- 
quainted with  through  novels,  plays,  and  poems.  About  her 
French  and  music,  the  two  justifying  accomplishments  of  a 
young  lady,  she  felt  no  ground  for  uneasiness ;  and  when  to  all 
these  qualifications,  negative  and  positive,  we  add  the  sponta- 
neous sense  of  capability  some  happy  persons  are  born  with,  so '^ 
that  any  subject  they  turn  attention  to  impresses  them  with 
their  own  power  of  forming  a  correct  judgment  on  it,  who  can 
wonder  if  Gwendolen  felt  ready  to  manage  her  own  destiny  ? 

There  were  many  subjects  in  the  world — perhaps  the  major- 
ity— in  which  she  felt  no  interest,  because  they  were  stupid ; 
for  subjects  are  apt  to  appear  stupid  to  the  Jijung  as  light 
seems  dim  to  the  old ;  but  she  would  not  have  felt  at  all  help- 
less in  relation  to  them  if  they  had  turned  up  in  conversation. 
It  must  be  remembered  that  no  one  had  disputed  her  power  or 
her  general  superiority.  As  on  the  arrival  at  Offcndene,  so  al- 
ways the  first  thought  of  those  about  her  had  been,  what  will 
Gwendolen  think?  If  the  footman  trod  heavily  in  creaking 
boots,  or  if  the  laundress's  work  was  unsatisfactory,  the  maid 
said,  "  This  will  never  do  for  Miss  Harleth ;"  if  the  wood 
smoked  in  the  bedroom  fire-place,  Mrs.  Davilow,  whose  own 
weak  eyes  suffered  much  from  this  inconvcni^ce,  spoke  apolo- 
getically of  it  to  Gwendolen.  If,  when  they  were  under  the 
stress  of  traveling,  she  did  not  appear  at  the  breakfast-table  till 
every  one  else  had  finished,  the  only  question  was,  how  Gwen- 


42  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

dolen's  coffee  and  toast  should  still  be  of  the  hottest  and  crisp^ 
est;  and  when  she  appeared  with  her  freshly  brushed  light- 
brown  hair  streaming  backward  and  awaiting  her  mamma's 
hand  to  coil  it  up,  her  long  brown  eyes  glancing  bright  as  a 

^  wave-washed  onyx  from  under  their  long  lashes,  it  was  always 
she  herself  who  had  to  be  tolerant — to  beg  that  Alice,  who  sat 
waiting  on  her,  would  not  stick  up  her  shoulders  in  that  fright- 
ful manner,  and  that  Isabel,  instead  of  pushing  up  to  her  and 
asking  questions,  would  go  away  to  Miss  Merry. 

Always  she  was  the  princess  in  exile,  who  in  time  of  famine 
was  to  have  her  breakfast-roll  made  of  the  finest-bolted  flour 
from  the  seven  thin  ears  of  wheat,  and  in  a  general  decamp- 
ment was  to  have  her  silver  fork  kept  out  of  the  baggage. 
How  was  this  to  be  accounted  for  ?  The  answer  may  seem  to 
lie  quite  on  the  surface :  in  her  beauty,  a  certain  unusualness 
about  her,  a  decision  of  will  which  made  itself  felt  in  her  grace- 
ful movements  and  clear,  unhesitating  tones,  so  that  if  she  came 
into  the  room  on  a  rainy  day  when  every  body  else  was  flaccid, 
and  the  use  of  things  in  general  was  not  apparent  to  them, 
there  seemed  to  be  a  sudden,  sufficient  reason  for  keeping  up 
the  forms  of  life ;  and  even  the  waiters  at  hotels  showed  the 
more  alacrity  in  doing  away  with  crumbs  and  creases  and  dregs 
with  struggling  flies  in  them.    This  potent  charm,  added  to  the 

,  fact  that  she  was  the  eldest  daughter,  toward  whom  her  mam- 
ma had  always  been  in  an  apologetic  state  of  mind  for  the  evils 
brought  on  her  by  a  step-father,  may  seem  so  full  a  reason  for 
Gwendolen's  domestic  empire,  that  to  look  for  any  other  would 
be  to  ask  the  reason  of  daylight  when  the  sun  is  shining.  But 
beware  of  arriving  at  conclusions  without  comparisons.  I  re- 
member having  seen  the  same  assiduous,  apologetic  attention 
awarded  to  persons  who  were  not  at  all  beautiful  or  unusual, 
whose  firmness  showed  itself  in  no  very  graceful  or  euphonious 
way,  and  who  were  not  eldest  daughters  with  a  tender,  timid 
mother,  compunctious  at  having  subjected  them  to  inconven- 
iences. Some  of  them  were  a  very  common  sort  of  men.  And 
the  only  point  of  resemblance  among  them  all  was  a  strong  de- 
termination to  have  what  was  pleasant,  with  a  total  fearlessness 
in  making  themselves  disagreeable  or  dangerous  when  they  did 
not  get  it.    Wlio  is  so  much  cajoled  and  served  with  tremblings. 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  43 

by  the  weak  females  of  a  household  as  the  unscrupulous  male 
— capable,  if  he  has  not  free  way  at  home,  of  going  and  doing 
worse  elsewhere  ?  Hence  I  am  forced  to  doubt  whether  even 
without  her  potent  charm  and  peculiar  filial  position  Gwendo- 
len might  not  still  have  played  the  queen  in  exile,  if  only  she 
had  kept  her  inborn  energy  of  egoistic  desire,  and  her  power 
of  inspiring  fear  as  to  what  she  might  say  or  do.  However, 
she  had  the  charm,  and  those  who  feared  her  were  also  fond  of 
her ;  the  fear  and  the  fondness  being  perhaps  both  heightened 
by  what  may  be  called  the  iridescence  of  her  character — the 
play  of  various,  nay,  contrary  tendencies.  For  Macbeth's  rhet- 
oric about  the  impossibity  of  being  many  opposite  things  in 
the  same  moment  referred  to  the  clumsy  necessities  of  action, 
and  not  to  the  subtler  possibilities  of  feeling.  We  can  not 
speak  a  loyal  word  and  be  meanly  silent,  we  can  not  kill  and 
not  kill  in  the  same  moment;  but  a  moment  is  room  wide 
enough  for  the  loyal  and  mean  desire,  for  the  outlash  of  a  mur- 
derous thought  and  the  sharp  backward  stroke  of  repentance. 


CHAPTER  V. 


"  Her  wit 
Values  itself  so  highly,  that  to  her 
All  matter  else  seems  weak." 

Much  Ado  about  Nothing. 

Gwendolen's  reception  in  the  neighborhood  fulfilled  her 
uncle's  expectations.  From  Brackenshaw  Castle  to  the  Firs  at 
Wancester,  where  Mr.  Quallon,  the  banker,  kept  a  generous 
house,  she  was  welcomed  with  manifest  admiration ;  and  even 
those  ladies  who  did  not  quite  like  her  felt  a  comfort  in  hav^- 
ing  a  new,  striking  girl  to  invite ;  for  hostesses  who  entertain 
much  must  make  up  their  parties  as  ministers  make  up  their 
cabinets,  on  grounds  other  than  personal  liking.  Then,  in  or- 
der to  have  Gwendolen  as  a  guest,  it  was  not  necessary  to  ask 
any  one  who  was  disagreeable,  for  Mrs.  Davilow  always  made  a 
quiet,  picturesque  figure  as  a  chaperon,  and  Mr.  Gascoigne  was 
everywhere  in  request  for  his  own  sake. 


44  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Among  the  houses  where  Gwendolen  was  not  quite  liked,  and 
yet  invited,  was  Quetcham  Hall.  One  of  her  first  invitations 
was  to  a  large  dinner-party  there,  which  made  a  sort  of  general 
introduction  for  her  to  the  society  of  the  neighborhood ;  for  in 
a  select  party  of  thirty,  and  of  well-composed  proportions  as  to 
age,  few  visitable  families  could  be  entirely  left  out.  No  youth- 
ful figure  there  was  comparable  to  Gwendolen's  as  she  passed 
through  the  long  suite  of  rooms  adorned  with  light  and  flow- 
ers, and,  visible  at  first  as  a  slim  figure  floating  along  in  white 
drapery,  approached  through  one  wide  door-way  after  another 
into  fuller  illumination  and  definiteness.  She  had  never  had 
that  sort  of  promenade  before,  and  she  felt  exultingly  that  it 
befitted  her :  any  ojie  looking  at  her  for  the  first  time  might 
have  supposed  that  long  galleries  and  lackeys  had  always  been  a 
matter  of  course  in  her  life ;  while  her  cousin  Anna,  who  was 
really  more  familiar  with  these  things,  felt  almost  as  much  em- 
barrassed as  a  rabbit  suddenly  deposited  in  that  well -lighted 
space. 

"  Who  is  that  with  Gascoigne  ?"  said  the  archdeacon,  neg~ 
lecting  a  discussion  of  military  manoeuvres  on  which,  as  a  cler- 
gyman, he  was  naturally  appealed  to.  And  his  son,  on  the  oth- 
er side  of  the  room — a  hopeful  young  scholar,  who  had  already 
suggested  some  "  not  less  elegant  than  ingenious  "  emendations 
of  Greek  texts — said  nearly  at  the  same  time,  "  By  George ! 
who  is  that  girl  with  the  awfully  well-set  head  and  jolly  fig- 
ure?" 

But  to  a  mind  of  general  benevolence,  wishing  every  body 
to  look  well,  it  was  rather  exasperating  to  see  how  Gwendolen 
eclipsed  others :  how  even  the  handsome  Miss  Lawe,  explained 
to  be  the  daughter  of  Lady  Lawe,  looked  suddenly  broad, 
heavy,  and  inanimate ;  and  how  Miss  Arrowpoint,  unfortunate- 
ly also  dressed  in  white,  immediately  resembled  a  carte-de-visite 
in  which  one  would  fancy  the  skirt  alone  to  have  been  charged 
for.  Since  Miss  Arrowpoint  was  generally  liked  for  the  ami- 
able, unpretending  way  in  which  she  wore  her  fortunes,  and 
made  a  softening  screen  for  the  oddities  of  her  mother,  there 
seemed  to  be  some  unfitness  in  Gwendolen's  looking  so  much 
more  like  a  person  of  social  importance. 

"  She  is  not  really  so  handsome,  if  you  come  to  examine  her 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  45 

features,"  said  Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  later  in  the  evening,  confiden- 
tially to  Mrs.  Vulcanv.  "  It  is  a  certain  style  she  has,  which 
produces  a  great  effect  at  first,  but  afterward  she  is  less  agree- 
able." 

In  fact,  Gwendolen,  not  intending  it,  but  intending  the  con- 
trary, had  offended  her  hostess,  who,  though  not  a  splenetic  or 
vindictive  woman,  had  her  susceptibilities.  Several  conditions 
had  met  in  the  Lady  of  Quetcham  which  to  the  reasoners  in 
that  neighborhood  seemed  to  have  an  essential  connection  with 
each  other.  It  was  occasionally  recalled  that  she  had  been  the 
heiress  of  a  fortune  gained  by  some  moist  or  dry  business  in 
the  City,  in  order  fully  to  account  for  her  having  a  squat  figure, 
a  harsh,  parrot-like  voice,  and  a  systematically  high  head-dress ; 
and  since  these  points  made  her  externally  rather  ridiculous,  it 
appeared  to  many  only  natural  that  she  should  have  what  are 
called  literary  tendencies.  A  little  comparison  would  have 
shown  that  all  these  points  are  to  be  found  apart;  daughters 
of  aldermen  being  often  well-grown  and  well-featured,  pretty 
women  having  sometimes  harsh  or  husky  voices,  and  the  pro- 
duction of  feeble  literature  being  found  compatible  with  the 
most  diverse  forms  of  physique,  masculine  as  well  as  femi- 
nine. 

Gwendolen,  who  had  a  keen  sense  of  absurdity  in  others,  but 
was  kindly  disposed  toward  any  one  who  could  make  life  agree- 
able to  her,  meant  to  win  Mrs.  Arrowpoint  by  giving  her  an  in- 
terest and  attention  beyond  what  others  were  probably  inclined 
to  show.  But  self-confidence  is  apt  to  address  itself  to  an  im- 
aginary dullness  in  others ;  as  people  who  are  well  off  speak  in 
a  cajoling  tone  to  the  poor,  and  those  who  are  in  the  prime  of 
life  raise  their  voice  and  talk  artificially  to  seniors,  hastily  con- 
ceiving them  to  be  deaf  and  rather  imbecile.  Gwendolen,  with 
all  her  cleverness  and  purpose  to  be  agreeable,  could  not  escape 
that  form  of  stupidity  :  it  followed  in  her  mind,  unreflectingly, 
that  because  Mrs.  Arrowpoint  was  ridiculous  she  was  also  likely 
to  be  wanting  in  penetration,  and  she  went  through  her  little 
scenes  without  suspicion  that  the  various  shades  of  her  behav- 
ior were  all  noted. 

"  You  are  fond  of  books  as  well  as  of  music,  riding,  and 
archery,  I  hear,"  Mrs.  Arrowpoint  said,  going  to  her  for  a  tete-a- 


46  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Ute  in  the  drawing-room  after  dinner.  **  Catherine  will  be  very 
glad  to  have  so' sympathetic  a  neighbor.  This  little  speech 
might  have  seemed  the  most  graceful  politeness,  spoken  in  a 
low,  melodious  tone ;  but  with  a  twang  fatally  loud,  it  gave 
Gwendolen  a  sense  of  exercising  patronage  when  she  answered 
gracefully : 

"It  is  I  who  am  fortunate.  Miss  Arrowpoint  will  teach  me 
what  good  music  is :  I  shall  be  entirely  a  learner.  I  hear  that 
she  is  a  thorough  musician." 

"  Catherine  has  certainly  had  every  advantage.  We  have  a 
first-rate  musician  in  the  house  now — Herr  Klesmer;  perhaps 
you  know  all  his  compositions.  You  must  allow  me  to  intro- 
duce him  to  you.  You  sing,  I  believe.  Catherine  plays  three 
instruments,  but  she  does  not  sing.  I  hope  you  will  let  us  hear 
you.  I  understand  you  are  an  accomplished  singer." 
.  "  Oh  no  ! — '  die  Kraft  ist  schwach,  allein  die  Lust  ist  gross,' 
as  Mephistopheles  says." 

"Ah,  you  are  a  student  of  Goethe.  Young  ladies  are  so  ad- 
vanced now.     I  suppose  you  have  read  every  thing." 

"  No,  really.  I  shall  be  so  glad  if  you  will  tell  me  what  to 
read.  I  have  been  looking  into  all  the  books  in  the  library  at 
Offendene,  but  there  is  nothing  readable.  The  leaves  all  stick 
together  and  smell  musty.  I  wish  I  could  write  books  to  amuse 
myself,  as  you  can !  How  delightful  it  must  be  to  write  books 
after  one's  own  taste,  instead  of  reading  other  people's !  Home- 
made books  must  be  so  nice." 

For  an  instant  Mrs.  Arrowpoint's  glance  was  a  little  sharper, 
but  the  perilous  resemblance  to  satire  in  the  last  sentence  took 
the  hue  of  girlish  simplicity  when  Gwendolen  added, 

"  I  would  give  any  thing  to  write  a  book !" 

"  And  why  should  you  not  ?"  said  Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  encour- 
agingly. "  You  have  but  to  begin,  as  I  did.  Pen,  ink,  and  pa- 
per are  at  every  body's  command.  But  I  will  send  you  all  I 
have  written  with  pleasure." 

"Thanks.  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  read  your  writings.  Being 
acquainted  with  authors  must  give  a  peculiar  understanding  of 
their  books :  one  would  be  able  to  tell  then  which  parts  were 
funny  and  which  serious.  I  am  sure  I  often  laugh  in  the  wrong- 
place."     Here  Gwendolen  herself  became  aware  of  danger,  and 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  47 

added,  quickly,  "  In  Shakspeare,  you  know,  and  other  great  writ- 
ers  that  we  can  never  see.  But  I  always  want  to  know  more 
than  there  is  in  the  books." 

"  If  you  are  interested  in  any  of  my  subjects,  I  can  lend  you 
many  extra  sheets  in  manuscript,"  said  Mrs.  Arrowpoint — while 
Gwendolen  felt  herself  painfully  in  the  position  of  the  young 
lady  who  professed  to  like  potted  sprats.  "  These  are  things, 
I  dare  say,  I  shall  publish  eventually  :  several  friends  have  urged 
me  to  do  so,  and  one  doesn't  like  to  be  obstinate.  My  Tasso, 
for  example — I  could  have  made  it  twice  the  size." 

"  I  dote  on  Tasso,"  said  Gwendolen. 

"  Well,  you  shall  have  all  my  papers,  if  you  like.  So  many, 
you  know,  have  written  about  Tasso ;  but  they  are  all  wrong. 
As  to  the  particular  nature  of  his  madness,  and  his  feelings  for 
Leonora,  and  the  real  cause  of  his  imprisonment,  and  the  charac- 
ter of  Leonora,  who,  in  my  opinion,  was  a  cold-hearted  woman, 
else  she  would  have  married  him  in  spite  of  her  brother — they 
are  all  wrong.     I  differ  from  every  body." 

"  How  very  interesting !"  said  Gwendolen.  "  I  like  to  differ 
from  every  body.  I  think  it  is  so  stupid  to  agree.  That  is 
the  worst  of  writing  your  opinions;  you  make  people  agree 
with  you." 

This  speech  renewed  a  slight  suspicion  in  Mrs.  Arrowpoint, 
and  again  her  glance  became  for  a  moment  examining.  But 
Gwendolen  looked  very  innocent,  and  continued  with  a  docile 
air, 

"  I  know  nothing  of  Tasso  except  the  '  Gerusalemme  Liberata,' 
which  we  read  and  learned  by  heart  at  school." 

"Ah,  his  life  is  more  interesting  than  his  poetry.  I  have 
constructed  the  early  part  of  his  life  as  a  sort  of  romance. 
When  one  thinks  of  his  father  Bernardo,  and  so  on,  there  is  so 
much  that  must  be  true." 

"  Imagination  is  often  truer  than  fact,"  said  Gwendolen,  dex 
cisively,  though  she  could  no  more  have  explained  these  glib 
words  than  if  they  had  been  Coptic  or  Etruscan.  "  I  shall  be 
so  glad  to  learn  all  about  Tasso — and  his  madness  especially. 
I  suppose  poets  are  always  a  little  mad." 

"  To  be  sure — '  the  poet's  eye  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling ;'  and 
somebody  says  of  Marlowe, 


48  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  '  For  that  fine  madness  still  he  did  maintain 
Which  always  should  possess  the  poet's  brain.' " 

"  But  it  was  not  always  found  out,  was  it  ?"  said  Gwendolen, 
innocently.  "  I  suppose  some  of  them  rolled  their  eyes  in  pri- 
vate.    Mad  people  are  often  very  cunning." 

Again  a  shade  flitted  over  Mrs.  Arrowpoint's  face ;  but  the 
entrance  of  the  gentlemen  prevented  any  immediate  mischief 
between  her  and  this  too  quick  young  lady,  who  had  overacted 
her  naivete. 

"Ah,  here  comes  Herr  Klesmer,"  said  Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  ris- 
ing- ;  and  presently  bringing  him  to  Gwendolen,  she  left  them 
to  a  dialogue  which  was  agreeable  on  both  sides,  Herr  Klesmer 
being  a  felicitous  combination  of  the  German,  the  Sclave,  and 
the  Semite,  with  grand  features,  brown  hair  floating  in  artistic 
fashion,  and  brown  eyes  in  spectacles.  His  English  had  little 
foreignness  except  its  fluency ;  and  his  alarming  cleverness  was 
made  less  formidable  just  then  by  a  certain  softening  air  of  sil- 
liness which  will  sometimes  befall  even  genius  in  the  desire  of 
being  agreeable  to  beauty. 

Music  was  soon  begun.  Miss  Arrowpoint  and  Herr  Klesmer 
played  a  four-handed  piece  on  two  pianos  which  convinced  the 
company  in  general  that  it  was  long,  and  Gwendolen  in  partic- 
ular that  the  neutral,  placid-faced  Miss  Arrowpoint  had  a  mas- 
tery of  the  instrument  which  put  her  own  execution  out  of  the 
question — though  she  was  not  discouraged  as  to  her  often- 
praised  touch  and  style.  After  this  every  one  became  anxious 
to  hear  Gwendolen  sing ;  especially  Mr.  Arrowpoint ;  as  was 
natural  in  a  host  and  a  perfect  gentleman,  of  whom  no  one  had 
any  thing  to  say  but  that  he  had  married  Miss  Guttler,  and  im- 
ported the  best  cigars ;  and  he  led  her  to  the  piano  with  easy 
politeness.  Herr  Klesmer  closed  the  instrument  in  readiness 
for  her,  and  smiled  with  pleasure  at  her  approach ;  then  placed 
himself  at  the  distance  of  a  few  feet,  so  that  he  could  see  her 
as  she  sung. 

Gwendolen  was  not  nervous ;  what  she  undertook  to  do  she 
did  without  trembling,  and  singing  was  an  enjoyment  to  her. 
Her  voice  was  a  moderately  powerful  soprano  (some  one  had 
told  her  it  was  like  Jenny  Lind's),  her  ear  good,  and  she  was 
able  to  keep  in  tune,  so  that  her  singing  gave  pleasure  to  ordi- 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  49 

nary  hearers,  and  she  had  been  used  to  unmingled  applause. 
She  had  the  rare  advantage  of  looking  almost  prettier  when  she 
was  singing  than  at  other  times,  and  that  Herr  Klesmer  was  in 
front  of  her  seemed  not  disagreeable.  Her  song,  determined 
on  beforehand,  was  a  favorite  aria  of  Bellini's,  in  which  she 
felt  quite  sure  of  herself. 

"  Charming !"  said  Mr.  Arrowpoint,  who  had  remained  near, 
and  the  word  w^as  echoed  around  without  more  insincerity  than 
we  recognize  in  a  brotherly  way  as  human.  But  Herr  Klesmer 
stood  like  a  statue — if  a  'statue  can  be  imagined  in  spectacles ; 
at  least,  he  was  as  mute  as  a  statue.  Gwendolen  was  pressed 
to  keep  her  seat  and  double  the  general  pleasure,  and  she  did 
not  wish  to  refuse ;  but  before  resolving  to  do  so,  she  moved  a 
little  toward  Herr  Klesmer,  saying,  with  a  look  of  smiling  ap- 
peal, "  It  would  be  too  cruel  to  a  great  musician.  You  can  not 
like  to  hear  poor  amateur  singing." 

"  No,  truly ;  but  that  makes  nothing,"  said  Herr  Klesmer, 
suddenly  speaking  in  an  odious  German  fashion  with  staccato 
endings,  quite  unobservable  in  him  before,  and  apparently  de- 
pending on  a  change  of  mood,  as  Irishmen  resume  their  strong- 
est brogue  when  they  are  fervid  or  quarrelsome.  "  That  makes 
nothing.     It  is  always  acceptable  to  see  you  sing." 

Was  there  ever  so  unexpected  an  assertion  of  superiority — 
at  least  before  the  late  Teutonic  conquests  ?  Gwendolen  color- 
ed deeply,  but,  with  her  usual  presence  of  mind,  did  not  show 
;in  ungraceful  resentment  by  moving  away  immediately ;  and 
Miss  Arrowpoint,  who  had  been  near  enough  to  overhear  (and 
also  to  observe  that  Herr  Klesmer's  mode  of  looking  at  Gwen- 
dolen was  more  conspicuously  admiring  than  was  quite  consist- 
ent with  good  taste),  now  with  the  utmost  tact  and  kindness 
came  close  to  her,  and  said : 

"  Imagine  what  I  have  to  go  through  with  this  professor ! 
He  can  hardly  tolerate  any  thing  we  English  do  in  music.  We 
can  only  put  up  with  his  severity,  and  make  use  of  it  to  find 
out  the  worst  that  can  be  said  of  us.  It  is  a  little  comfort  to 
know  that ;  and  one  can  bear  it  when  every  one  else  is  admir- 
ing." 

"  I  should  be  very  much  obliged  to  him  for  telling  me  the 
worst,"  said  Gwendolen,  recovering  herself.  "  I  dare  say  I  have 
Vol.  L— 3 


50  DANIEL    DERONDA." 

been  extremely  ill  taught,  in  addition  to  liaving  no  talent — 
only  liking  for  music."  This  was  very  well  expressed,  consid- 
ering that  it  had  never  entered  her  mind  before. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true ;  you  have  not  been  well  taught,"  said  Herr 
Klesmer,  quietly.  Woman  was  dear  to  him,  but  music  was 
dearer.  "  Stilly  you  are  not  quite  without  gifts.  You  sing  in 
tune,  and  you  have  a  pretty  fair  organ.  But  you  produce  your 
notes  badly ;  and  that  music  which  you  sing  is  beneath  you. 
It  is  a  form  of  melody  which  expresses  a  puerile  state  of  cult- 
ure— a  dandling,  canting,  seesaw  kind  of  stuff — the  passion  and 
thought  of  people  without  any  breadth  of  horizon.  There  is  a 
sort  of  self-satisfied  folly  about  every  phrase  of  such  melody ; 
no  cries  of  deep,  mysterious  passion — no  conflict — no  sens6  of 
the  universal.  It  makes  men  small  as  they  listen  to  it.  Sing 
now  something  larger.     And  I  shall  see."  • 

"  Oh,  not  now.  By-and-by,"  said  Gwendolen,  with  a  sink- 
ing of  heart  at  the  sudden  width  of  horizon  opened  round  her 
small  musical  performance.  For  a  young  lady  desiring  to  lead, 
this  first  encounter  in  her  campaign  was  startling.  But  she 
was  bent  on  not  behaving  foolishly,  and  Miss  Arrowpoint  help- 
ed her  by  saying, 

"Yes,  by-and-by.  I  always  require  half  an  hour  to  get  up 
my  courage  after  being  criticised  by  Herr  Klesmer.  We  will 
ask  him  to  play  to  us  now :  he  is  bound  to  show  us  what  is 
good  music." 

To  be  quite  safe  on  this  point  Herr  Klesmer  played  a  compo-- 
sition  of  his  own,  a  fantasia  called  "  FreudvoU,  Leidvoll,  Gedan- 
kenvoll " — an  extensive  commentary  on  some  melodic  ideas  not 
too  grossly  evident ;  and  he  certainly  fetched  as  much  variety 
and  depth  of  passion  out  of  the  piano  as  that  moderately  re- 
sponsive instrument  lends  itself  to,  having  an  imperious  magic 
in  his  fingers  that  seemed  to  send  a  nerve-thrill  through  ivory 
key  and  wooden  hammer,  and  compel  the  strings  to  make  a 
quivering,  lingering  speech  for  him.  Gwendolen,  in  spite  of 
her  wounded  egoism,  had  fullness  of  nature  enough  to  feel  the 
power  of  this  playing,  and  it  gradually  turned  her  inward  sob 
of  mortification  into  an  excitement  which  lifted  her  for  the 
moment  into  a  desperate  indifference  about  her  own  doings,  or 
at  least  a  determination  to  get  a  superiority  over  them  by  laugh- 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  51 

ing  at  them  as  if  they  belonged  to  somebody  else.  Her  eyes 
had  become  brighter,  her  cheeks  slightly  flushed,  and  her  tongue 
ready  for  any  mischievous  remarks. 

"  I  wish  you  would  sing  to  us  again,  Miss  Harleth,"  said 
young  Clintock,  the  archdeacon's  classical  son,  who  had  been 
so  fortunate  as  to  take  her  to  dinner,  and  came  up  to  renew 
conversation  as  soon  as  Herr  Klesmer's  performance  was  ended. 
"That  is  the  style  of  music  for  me.  I  never  can  make  any 
thing  of  this  tiptop  playing.  It  is  like  a  jar  of  leeches,  where 
you  can  never  tell  either  beginnings  or  endings.  I  could  listen 
to  your  singing  all  day." 

"  Yes,  we  should  be  glad  of  something  popular  now ;  an- 
other song  from  you  would  be  a  relaxation,"  said  Mrs.  Arrow- 
point,  who  had  also  come  near  with  polite  intentions. 

"  That  must  be  because  you  are  in  a  puerile  state  of  culture, 
and  have  no  breadth  of  horizon.  I  have  just  learned  that.  I 
have  been  taught  how  bad  my  taste  is,  and  am  feeling  growing- 
pains.  They  are  never  pleasant,"  said  Gwendolen,  not  taking 
any  notice  of  Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  and  looking  up  with  a  bright 
smile  at  young  Clintock. 

Mrs.  Arrowpoint  was  not  insensible  to  this  rudeness,  but 
merely  said,  "  Well,  we  will  not  press  any  thing  disagreeably ;" 
and  as  there  was  a  perceptible  outrush  of  imprisoned  conver- 
sation just  then,  and  a  movement  of  guests  seeking  each  other, 
she  remained  seated  where  she  was,  and  looked  round  her  with 
the  relief  of  the  hostess  at  finding  she  is  not  needed. 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  this  neighborhood,"  said  young  Clin- 
tock, well  pleased  with  his  station  in  front  of  Gwendolen. 

"Exceedingly.  There  seems  to  be  a  little  of  every  thing, 
and  not  much  of  any  thing." 

"  That  is  rather  equivocal  praise." 

"  Not  with  me.  I  like  a  little  of  every  thing.  A  little  ab- 
surdity, for  example,  is  very  amusing.  I  am  thankful  for  a 
few  queer  people.     But  much  of  them  is  a  bore." 

(Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  who  was  hearing  this  dialogue,  perceived 
quite  a  new  tone  in  Gwendolen's  speech,  and  felt  a  revival  of 
doubt  as  to  her  interest  in  Tasso's  madness.) 

"  I  think  there  should  be  more  croquet,  for  one  thing,"  said 
young  Clintock ;  "  I  am  usually  away,  but  if  I  were  more  here, 


62  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

I  should  go  in  for  a  croquet  club.  You  are  one  of  tlie  arch- 
ers, I  think.  But,  depend  upon  it,  croquet  is  the  game  of  the 
future.  It  wants  writing  up,  though.  One  of  our  best  men 
has  written  a  poem  on  it,  in  four  cantos ;  as  good  as  Pope.  I 
want  him  to  publish  it.     You  never  read  any  thing  better." 

"  I  shall  study  croquet  to-morrow.  I  shall  take  to  it  instead 
of  singing." 

"  No,  no,  not  that.  But  do  take  to  croquet.  I  will  send 
you  Jenning's  poem,  if  you  like.     I  have  a  manuscript  copy." 

"  Is  he  a  great  friend  of  yours  ?" 

"  Well,  rather." 

"  Oh,  if  he  is  only  rather,  I  think  I  will  decline.  Or,  if  you 
send  it  me,  will  you  promise  not  to  catechise  me  upon  it,  and 
ask  me  which  part  I  like  best?  Because  it  is  not  so  easy  to 
know  a  poem  without  reading  it  as  to  know  a  sermon  without 
listening." 

"  Decidedly,"  Mrs.  Arrowpoint  thought,  "  this  girl  is  double 
and  satirical.     I  shall  be  on  my  guard  against  her." 

But  Gwendolen,  nevertheless,  continued  to  receive  polite  at- 
tentions from  the  family  at  Quetcham,  not  merely  because  in- 
vitations have  larger  grounds  than  those  of  personal  liking,  but 
because  the  trying  little  scene  at  the  piano  had  awakened  a 
kindly  solicitude  to  her  in  the  gentle  mind  of  Miss  Arrowpoint, 
who  managed  all  the  invitations  and  visits,  her  mother  being 
otherwise  occupied. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


"  Croyez-vous  m'avoir  humili^e  pour  m'avoir  appris  que  la  terre  tourne 
autour  du  soleil  ?  Je  vous  jure  que  je  ne  m'en  estime  pas  moins." — Fonte- 
NELLE  :  PluralUe  dcs  Moiides. 

That  lofty  criticism  had  caused  Gwendolen  a  new  sort  of 
pain.  She  would  not  have  chosen  to  confess  how  unfortunate 
she  thought  herself  in  not  having  had  Miss  Arrowpoint's  mu- 
sical advantages,  so  as  to  be  able  to  question  Herr  Klesmer's 
taste  with  the  confidence  of  thorough  knowledge ;  still  less,  to 
admit  even  to  herself  that  Miss  Arrowpoint,  each  time  they 
met,  raised  an  unwonted  feeling  of  jealousy  in  her ;  not  in  tho 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  63 

least  because  she  was  an  heiress,  but  because  it  was  really  pro- 
voking that  a  girl  whose  appearance  you  could  not  character- 
ize except  by  saying  that  her  figure  was  slight  and  of  middle 
stature,  her  features  small,  her  eyes  tolerable,  and  her  complex- 
ion sallow,  had  nevertheless  a  certain  mental  superiority  which 
could  not  be  explained  away — an  exasperating  thoroughness  in 
her  musical  accomplishment,  a  fastidious  discrimination  in  her 
general  tastes,  which  made  it  impossible  to  force  her  admira- 
tion and  keep  you  in  awe  of  her  standard.  This  insignificant- 
looking  young  lady  of  four-and-twenty,  whom  any  one's  eyes 
would  have  passed  over  negligently  if  she  had  not  been  Miss 
Arrowpoint,  might  be  suspected  of  a  secret  opinion  that  Miss 
Harleth's  acquirements  were  rather  of  a  common  order;  and 
such  an  opinion  was  not  made  agreeable  to  think  of  by  being 
always  veiled  under  a  perfect  kindness  of  manner. 

But  Gwendolen  did  not  like  to  dwell  on  facts  which  threw 
an  unfavorable  light  on  herself.  The  musical  Magus  who  had 
so  suddenly  widened  her  horizon  was  not  always  on  the  scene ; 
and  his  being  constantly  backward  and  forward  between  Lon- 
don and  Quetcham  soon  began  to  be  thought  of  as  offering 
opportunities  for  converting  him  to  a  more  admiring  state  of 
mind.  Meanwhile,  in  the  manifest  pleasure  her  singing  gave  at 
Brackenshaw  Castle,  the  Firs,  and  elsewhere,  she  recovered  her 
equanimity,  being  disposed  to  think  approval  more  trustworthy 
than  objection,  and  not  being  one  of  the  exceptional  persons 
who  have  a  parching  thirst  for  a  perfection  undemanded  by 
their  neighbors.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  rash  to  say  then 
that  she  was  at  all  exceptional  inwardly,  or  that  the  unusual  in 
her  was  more  than  her  rare  grace  of  movement  and  bearing, 
and  a  certain  daring  which  gave  piquancy  to  a  very  common 
egoistic  ambition,  such  as  exists  under  many  clumsy  exteriors, 
and  is  taken  no  notice  of.  For  I  suppose  that  the  set  of  the 
head  does  not  really  determine  the  hunger  of  the  inner  self  for 
supremacy  ;  it  only  makes  a  difference  sometimes  as  to  the  way 
in  which  the  supremacy  is  held  attainable,  and  a  little  also  to 
the  degree  in  which  it  can  be  attained ;  especially  when  the 
hungry  one  is  a  girl,  whose  passion  for  doing  what  is  remark- 
able has  an  ideal  limit  in  consistency  with  the  highest  breeding 
and  perfect  freedom  from  the  sordid  need  of  income.     Gwen- 


54  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

dolen  was  as  inwardly  rebellious  against  the  restraints  of  fami- 
ly conditions,  and  as  ready  to  look  through  obligations  into  her 
own  fundamental  want  of  feeling  for  them,  as  if  she  had  been 
sustained  by  the  boldest  speculations ;  but  she  really  had  no 
such  speculations,  and  would  at  once  have  marked  herself  off 
from  any  sort  of  theoretical  or  practically  reforming  women  by 
satirizing  them.  She  rejoiced  to  feel  herself  exceptional ;  but 
her  horizon  was  that  of  the  genteel  romance  where  the  hero- 
ine's soul  poured  out  in  her  journal  is  full  of  vague  power,  orig- 
inality, and  general  rebellion,  while  her  life  moves  strictly  in  the 
sphere  of  fashion ;  and  if  she  wanders  into  a  swamp,  the  pa- 
thos lies  partly,  so  to  speak,  in  her  having  on  her  satin  shoes. 
Here  is  a  restraint  which  nature  and  society  have  provided  on 
the  pursuit  of  striking  adventure ;  so  that  a  soul  burning  with 
a  sense  of  what  the  universe  is  not,  and  ready  to  take  all  ex- 
istence as  fuel,  is  nevertheless  held  captive  by  the  ordinary 
wire-work  of  social  forms,  and  does  nothing  particular. 

This  commonplace  result  was  what  Gwendolen  found  herself 
threatened  with  even  in  the  novelty  of  the  first  winter  at  Offen- 
dene.  AVhat  she  was  clear  upon  was,  that  she  did  not  wish  to 
lead  the  same  sort  of  life  as  ordinary  young  ladies  did;  but 
what  she  was  not  clear  upon  was,  how  she  should  set  about 
leading  any  other,  and  what  were  the  particular  acts  which  she 
would  assert  her  freedom  by  doing.  Offendene  remained  a 
good  background,  if  any  thing  would  happen  there ;  but,  on 
the  whole,  the  neighborhood  was  in  fault. 

Beyond  the  effect  of  her  beauty  on  a  first  presentation,  there 
was  not  much  excitement  to  be  got  out  of  her  earliest  invita- 
tions, and  she  came  home  after  little  sallies  of  satire  and  know- 
ingness,  such  as  had  offended  Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  to  fill  the  inter- 
vening days  with  the  most  girlish  devices.  The  strongest  asser- 
tion she  was  able  to  make  of  her  individual  claims  was  to  leave 
out  Alice's  lessons  (on  the  principle  that  Alice  was  more  likely 
to  excel  in  ignorance),  and  to  employ  her  with  Miss  Merry,  and 
the  maid  who  was  understood  to  wait  on  all  the  ladies,  in  help- 
ing to  l^rrange  various  dramatic  costumes  which  Gwendolen 
pleased  herself  with  having  in  readiness  for  some  future  occa- 
sions of  acting  in  charades  or  theatrical  pieces,  occasions  which 
she  meant  to  bring  about  by  force  of  will  or  contrivance.     She 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  55 

had  never  acted — only  made  a  figure  in  tableaux  vivans  at 
school ;  but  she  felt  assured  that  she  could  act  well,  and  having 
been  once  or  twice  to  the  Theatre  Frangais,  and  also  heard  her 
mamma  speak  of  Rachel,  her  waking  dreams  and  cogitations  as 
to  how  she  would  manage  her  destiny  sometimes  turned  on  the 
question  whether  she  should  become  an  actress  like  Rachel, 
since  she  was  more  beautiful  than  that  thin  Jewess.  Mean- 
while the  wet  days  before  Christmas  were  passed  pleasantly  in 
the  preparation  of  costumes,  Greek,  Oriental,  and  Composite,  in 
which  Gwendolen  attitudinized  and  speechified  before  a  domes- 
tic audience,  including  even  the  housekeeper,  who  was  once 
pressed  into  it  that  she  might  swell  the  notes  of  applause  ;  but 
having  shown  herself  unworthy  by  observing  that  Miss  Harleth 
looked  far  more  like  a  queen  in  her  own  dress  than  in  that  bag- 
gy thing  with  her  arms  all  bare,  she  was  not  invited  a  second 
time. 

"  Do  I  look  as  well  as  Rachel,  mamma  ?"  said  Gwendolen  one 
day  when  she  had  been  showing  herself  in  her  Greek  dress  to 
Anna,  and  going  through  scraps  of  scenes  with  much  tragic  in- 
tention. 

"You  have  better  arms  than  Rachel,"  said  Mrs. Davilow; 
"  your  arms  would  do  for  any  thing,  Gwen.  But  your  voice  is 
not  so  tragic  as  hers :  it  is  not  so  deep." 

"  I  can  make  it  deeper  if  I  like,"  said  Gwendolen,  provision- 
ally ;  then  she  added,  with  decision,  "  I  think  a  higher  voice  is 
more  tragic :  it  is  more  feminine ;  and  the  more  feminine  a 
woman  is,  the  more  tragic  it  seems  when  she  does  desperate  ac- 
tions." 

"  There  may  be  something  in  that,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  lan- 
guidly. "  But  I  don't  know  what  good  there  is  in  making  one's 
blood  creep.  And  if  there  is  any  thing  horrible  to  be  done,  I 
should  like  it  to  be  left  to  the  men." 

"  Oh  mamma,  you  are  so  dreadfully  prosaic.  As  if  all  the 
great  poetic  criminals  were  not  women !  I  think  the  men  are 
poor,  cautious  creatures." 

"Well,  dear,  and  you  —  who  are  afraid  to  be  alone  in  the 
night — I  don't  think  you  would  be  very  bold  in  crime,  thank 
God." 
•   "  I  am  not  talking  about  reality,  mamma,"  said  Gwendolen, 


5Q  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

impatiently.  Then,  her  mamma  being  called  out  of  the  room, 
she  turned  quickly  to  her  cousin,  as  if  taking  an  opportunity, 
and  said,  "  Anna,  do  ask  my  uncle  to  let  us  get  up  some  cha- 
rades at  the  rectory.  Mr.  Middleton  and  Warham  could  act 
with  us — just  for  practice.  Mamma  says  it  will  not  do  to  have 
Mr.  Middleton  consulting  and  rehearsing  here.  He  is  a  stick, 
but  we  could  give  him  suitable  parts.     Do  ask ;  or  else  I  will." 

"  Oh,  not  till  Rex  comes.  He  is  so  clever,  and  such  a  dear 
old  thing,  and  he  will  act  Napoleon  looking  over  the  sea.  He 
looks  just  like  Napoleon.     Rex  can  do  any  thing." 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  believe  in  your  Rex,  Anna,"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, laughing  at  her.  "  He  will  turn  out  to  be  like  those 
wretched  blue  and  yellow  water-colors  of  his  which  you  hang 
up  in  your  bedroom  and  worship." 

"  Very  well,  you  will  see,"  said  Anna.  "  It  is  not  that  I 
know  what  is  clever,  but  he  has  got  a  scholarship  already,  and 
papa  says  he  will  get  a  fellowship,  and  nobody  is  better  at 
games.  He  is  cleverer  than  Mr.  Middleton,  and  every  body  but 
you  calls  Mr.  Middleton  clever." 

"  So  he  may  be,  in  a  dark-lantern  sort  of  way.  But  he  is  a 
stick.  If  he  had  to  say,  'Perdition  catch  my  soul,  but  I  do 
love  her !'  he  would  say  it  in  just  the  same  tone  as, '  Here  end- 
eth  the  second  lesson.'  " 

"  Oh,  Gwendolen  !"  said  Anna,  shocked  at  these  promiscuous 
allusions.  "And  it  is  very  unkind  of  you  to  speak  so  of  him, 
for  he  admires  you  very  much.  I  heard  Warham  say  one  day 
to  mamma, '  Middleton  is  regularly  spoony  upon  Gwendolen.' 
She  was  very  angry  with  him  ;  but  I  know  what  it  means.  It 
is  what  they  say  at  college  for  being  in  love." 

"  How  can  I  help  it  ?"  said  Gwendolen,  rather  contemptuous- 
ly.   ."  Perdition  catch  my  soul  if  I  love  himP'' 

"  No,  of  course ;  papa,  I  think,  would  not  wish  it.  And  he 
is  to  go  away  soon.  But  it  makes  me  sorry  when  you  ridicule 
him." 

"  What  shall  you  do  to  me  when  I  ridicule  Rex  ?"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, wickedly. 

"  Now,  Gwendolen  dear,  you  will  not  P  said  Anna,  her  eyes 
filling  with  tears.  "  I  could  not  bear  it.  But  there  really  is 
nothing  in  him  to  ridicule.     Only  you  may  find  out  things. 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  5? 

For  no  one  ever  thought  of  laughing  at  Mr.  Middleton  before 
you.  Every  one  said  he  was  nice-looking,  and  his  manners 
perfect.  I  am  sure  I  have  always  been  frightened  at  him  be- 
cause of  his  learning  and  his  square-cut  coat,  and  his  being  a 
nephew  of  the  bishop's,  and  all  that.  But  you  will  not  ridicule 
Rex — promise  me."  Anna  ended  with  a  beseeching  look  which 
touched  Gwendolen. 

"  You  are  a  dear  little  coz,"  she  said,  just  touching  the  tip  of 
Anna's  chin  with  her  thumb  and  fore-finger.  "I  don't  ever 
want  to  do  any  thing  that  will  vex  you.  Especially  if  Rex  is 
to  make  every  thing  come  off — charades  and  every  thing." 

And  when  at  last  Rex  was  ihere,  the  animation  he  brought 
into  the  life  at  Offendene  and  the  rectory,  and  his  ready  part- 
nership in  Gwendolen's  plans,  left  her  no  inclination  for  any 
ridicule  that  was  not  of  an  open  and  flattering  kind,  such  as 
he  himself  enjoyed.  He  was  a  fine  open-hearted  youth,  with  a 
handsome  face  strongly  resembling  his  father's  and  Anna's,  but 
softer  in  expression  than  the  one,  and  larger  in  scale  than  the 
other :  a  bright,  healthy,  loving  nature,  enjoying  ordinary,  in- 
nocent things  so  much  that  vice  had  no  temptation  for  him,  and 
what  he  knew  of  it  lay  too  entirely  in  the  outer  courts  and  lit- 
tle-visited chambers  of  his  mind  for  him  to  think  of  it  with 
great  repulsion.  Vicious  habits  were  with  him  "  what  some 
fellows  did " — "  stupid  stuff "  which  he  liked  to  keep  aloof 
from.  He  returned  Anna's  affection  as  fully  as  could  be  ex- 
pected of  a  brother  whose  pleasures  apart  from  her  were  more 
than  the  sum  total  of  hers ;  and  he  had  never  known  a  stronger 
love. 

The  cousins  were  continually  together  at  the  one  house  or 
the  other — chiefly  at  Offendene,  where  there  was  more  freedom, 
or,  rather,  where  there  was  a  more  complete  sway  for  Gwen- 
dolen ;  and  whatever  she  wished  became  a  ruling  purpose  for 
Rex.  The  charades  came  off  according  to  her  plans ;  and  also 
some  other  little  scenes  not  contemplated  by  her,  in  which  her 
acting  was  more  impromptu.  It  was  at  Offendene  that  the 
charades  and  tableaux  were  rehearsed  and  presented,  Mrs.  Dav- 
ilow  seeing  no  objection  even  to  Mr.  Middleton's  being  invited 
to  share  in  them,  now  that  Rex  too  was  there  —  especially  as 
his  services  were  indispensable ;  Warham,  who  was  studying  for 

3* 


58  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

India  with  a  Wancester  "  coacli,"  having  no  time  to  spare,  and 
being  generally  dismal  under  a  cram  of  every  thing  except  the 
answers  needed  at  the  forthcoming  examination,  which  might 
disclose  the  welfare  of  our  Indian  Empire  to  be  somehow  con- 
nected with  a  quotable  knowledge  of  Browne's  "  Pastorals." 

Mr.  Middleton  was  persuaded  to  play  various  grave  parts, 
Gwendolen  having  flattered  him  on  his  enviable  immobility  of 
countenance;  and,  at  first  a  little  pained  and  jealous  at  her 
comradeship  with  Rex,  he  presently  drew  encouragement  from 
the  thought  that  this  sort  of  cousinly  familiarity  excluded  any 
serious  passion.  Indeed,  he  occasionally  felt  that  her. more 
formal  treatment  of  himself  wa^  such  a  sign  of  favor  as  to  war- 
rant his  making  advances  before  he  left  Pennicote,  though  he 
had  intended 'to  keep  his  feelings  in  reserve  until  his  position 
should  be  more  assured.  Miss  Gwendolen,  quite  aware  that 
she  was  adored  by  this  unexceptionable  young  clergyman  with 
pale  whiskers  and  square-cut  collar,  felt  nothing  more  on  the 
subject  than  that  she  had  no  objection  to  be  adored :  she  turned 
her  eyes  on  him  with  calm  mercilessness,  and  caused  him  many 
mildly  agitating  hopes  by  seeming  always  to  avoid  dramatic 
contact  with  him — for  all  meanings,  we  know,  depend  on  the 
key  of  interpretation. 

Some  persons  might  have  thought  beforehand  that  a  young 
man  of  Anglican  leanings,  having  a  sense  of  sacredness  much 
exercised  on  small  things  as  well  as  great,  rarely  laughing  save 
from  politeness,  and  in  general  regarding  the  mention  of  spades 
by  their  naked  names  as  rather  coarse,  would  not  have  seen  a 
fitting  bride  for  himself  in  a  girl  who  was  daring  in  ridicule, 
and  showed  none  of  the  special  grace  required  in  the  clergy- 
man's wife ;  or  that  a  young  man  informed  by  theological  read- 
ing would  have  reflected  that  he  was  not  likely  to  meet  the 
taste  of  a  lively,  restless  young  lady  like  Miss  Harleth.  But 
are  we  always  obliged  to  explain  why  the  facts  are  not  what 
some  persons  thought  beforehand  ?  The  apology  lies  on  their 
side  who  had  that  erroneous  way  of  thinking. 

As  for  Rex,  who  w^ould  possibly  have  been  sorry  for  poor 
Middleton  if  he  had  been  aware  of  the  excellent  curate's  inward 
conflict,  he  was  too  completely  absorbed  in  a  first  passion  to 
have  observation  for  any  person  or  thing.     He  did  not  observe 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  59 

Gwendolen ;  he  only  felt  what  she  said  or  did,  and  the  back 
of  his  head  seemed  to  be  a  good  organ  of  information  as  to 
whether  she  was  in  the  room  or  out.  Before  the  end  of  the 
first  fortnight  he  was  so  deeply  in  love  that  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  think  of  his  life  except  as  bound  up  with  Gwen- 
dolen's. He  could  see  no  obstacles,  poor  boy !  his  own  love 
seemed  a  guarantee  of  hers,  since  it  was  one  with  the  unper- 
turbed delight  in  her  image,  so  that  he  could  no  more  dream 
of  her  giving  him  pain  than  an  Egyptian  could  dream  of  snow. 
She  sung  and  played  to  him  whenever  he  liked,  was  always  glad 
of  his  companionship  in  riding,  though  his  borrowed  steeds 
were  often  comic,  was  ready  to  join  in  any  fun  of  his,  and 
showed  a  right  appreciation  of  Anna.  No  mark  of  sympathy 
seemed  absent.  That  because  Gwendolen  was  the  most  perfect 
creature  in  the  world  she  was  to  make  a  grand  match,  had  not 
occurred  to  him.  He  had  no  conceit — at  least,  not  more  than 
goes  to  make  up  the  necessary  gum  and  consistence  of  a  sub- 
stantial personality :  it  was  only  that  in  the  young  bliss  of  lov- 
ing he  took  Gwendolen's  perfection  as  part  of  that  good  which 
had  seemed  one  with  life  to  him,  being  the  outcome  of  a  hap- 
py, well-embodied  nature. 

One  incident  which  happened  in  the  course  of  their  dramatic 
attempts  impressed  Rex  as  a  sign  of  her  unusual  sensibility.  It 
showed  an  aspect  of  her  nature  which  could  not  have  been  pre- 
conceived by  any  one  who,  like  him,  had  only  seen  her  habit- 
ual fearlessness  in  active  exercises  and  her  high  spirits  in  so- 
ciety. 

After  a  good  deal  of  rehearsing,  it  was  resolved  that  a  select 
party  should  be  invited  to  Offendene  to  witness  the  perform- 
ances which  went  with  so  much  satisfaction  to  the  actors. 
Anna  had  caused  a  pleasant  surprise ;  nothing  could  be  neater 
than  the  way  in  which  she  played  her  little  parts;  one  would 
even  have  suspected  her  of  hiding  much  sly  observation  under 
her  simplicity.  And  Mr.  Middleton  answered  very  well  by  not 
trying  to  be  comic.  The  main  source  of  doubt  and  retardation 
had  been  Gwendolen's  desire  to  appear  in  her  Greek  dress.  No 
word  for  a  charade  would  occur  to  her,  either  waking  or  dream- 
ing, that  suited  her  purpose  of  getting  a  statuesque  pose  in  this 
favorite  costume.     To  choose  a  motive  from  Racine  was  of  nq 


60  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

use,  since  Rex  and  the  others  could  not  declaim  French  verse, 
and  improvised  speeches  would  turn  the  scene  into  burlesque. 
Besides,  Mr.  Gascoigne  prohibited  the  acting  of  scenes  from 
plays ;  he  usually  protested  against  the  notion  that  an  amuse- 
ment which  was  fitting  for  every  one  else  was  unfitting  for  a 
clergyman ;  but  he  would  not  in  this  matter  overstep  the  line 
of  decorum  as  drawn  in  that  part  of  Wessex,  which  did  not  ex- 
clude his  sanction  of  the  young  people's  acting  charades  in  his 
sister-in-law's  house — a  very  different  affair*from  private  theat- 
ricals in  the  full  sense  of  the  word. 

"  Every  body,  of  course,  was  concerned  to  satisfy  this  wish 
of  Gwendolen's,  and  Rex  proposed  that  they  should  wind  up 
with  a  tableau  in  which  the  effect  of  her  majesty  would  not  be 
marred  by  any  one's  speech.  This  pleased  her  thoroughly,  and 
the  only  question  was  the  choice  of  the  tableau. 

"  Something  pleasant,  children,  I  beseech  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Davilow ;  "  I  can't  have  any  Greek  wickedness." 

"It  is  no  worse  than  Christian  wickedness,  mamma,"  said 
Gwendolen,  whose  mention  of  Rachelesque  heroines  had  called 
forth  that  remark. 

"And  less  scandalous,"  said  Rex.  "Besides,  one  thinks  of 
it  as  all  gone  by  and  done  with.  What  do  you  say  to  Briseis 
being  led  away  ?  I  would  be  Achilles,  and  you  would  be  look- 
ing round  at  me — after  the  print  we  have  at  the  rectory." 

"  That  would  be  a  good  attitude  for  me,"  said  Gwendolen, 
in  a  tone  of  acceptance.  But  afterward  she  said  with  decision, 
"  No.  It  will  not  do.  There  must  be  three  men  in  proper 
costume,  else  it  will  be  ridiculous." 

"  I  have  it !"  said  Rex,  after  a  little  reflection.  "  Hermione, 
as  the  statue  in  the  '  Winter's  Tale !'  I  will  be  Leontes,  and  Miss 
Merry,  Paulina — one  on  each  side.  Our  dress  won't  signify," 
he  went  on,  laughingly ;  "  it  will  be  more  Shakspearian  and 
romantic  if  Leontes  looks  like  Napoleon,  and  Paulina  like  a 
modern  spinster." 

And  Hermione  was  chosen ;  all  agreeing  that  age  was  of  no 
consequence;  but  Gwendolen  urged  that  instead  of  the  mere 
tableau  there  should  be  just  enough  acting  of  the  scene  to  in- 
troduce the  striking-up  of  the  music  as  a  signal  for  her  to  step 
down  and  advance;  when  Leontes,  instead  of  embracing  her, 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  61 

was  to  kneel  and  kiss  the  hem  of  her  garment,  and  so  the  cur- 
tain was  to  fall.  The  antechamber  with  folding-doors  lent  it- 
self admirably  to  the  purposes  of  a  stage,  and  the  whole  of  the 
establishment,  with  the  addition  of  Jarrett  the  village  carpen- 
ter, was  absorbed  in  the  preparations  for  an  entertainment 
which,  considering  that  it  was  an  imitation  of  acting,  was  like- 
ly to  be  successful,  since  we  know  from  ancient  fable  that  an 
imitation  may  have  more  chance  of  success  than  the  original. 

Gwendolen  was  not  without  a  special  exultation  in  the  pros- 
pect of  this  occasion,  for  she  knew  that  Herr  I^esmer  was  again 
at  Quetcham,  and  she  had  taken  care  to  include  him  among  the 
invited. 

Klesmer  came.  lie  was  in  one  of  his  placid,  silent  moods, 
and  sat  in  serene  contemplation,  replying  to  all  appeals  in  be- 
nignant-sounding syllables  more  or  less  articulate  —  as  taking 
up  his  cross  meekly  in  a  world  overgrown  with  amateurs,  or  as 
careful  how  he  moved  his  lion  paws  lest  he  should  crush  a  ram- 
pant and  vociferous  mouse. 

Every  thing,  indeed,. went  off  smoothly  and  according  to  ex- 
pectation—  all  that  was  improvised  and  accidental  being  of  a 
probable  sort — until  the  incident  occurred  which  showed  Gwen- 
dolen in  an  unforeseen  phase  of  emotion.  How  it  came  about 
w^s  at  first  a  mystery. 

The  tableau  of  Hermione  was  doubly  striking  from  its  dis- 
similarity with  what  had  gone  before :  it  was  answering  per- 
fectly, and  a  murmur  of  applause  had  been  gradually  suppress- 
ed while  Leontes  gave  his  permission  that  Paulina  should  ex- 
ercise her  utmost  art  and  make  the  statue  move. 

Hermione,  her  ann  resting  on  a  pillar,  was  elevated  by  about 
six  inches,  which  she  counted  on  as  a  means  of  showing  her 
pretty  foot  and  instep,  when  at  the  given  signal  she  should  ad- 
vance and  descend. 

"Music,  awake  her  —  strike!"  said  Paulina  (Mrs.  Davilow, 
who,  by  special  entreaty,  had  consented  to  take  the  part  in  a 
white  burnous  and  hood). 

Herr  Klesmer,  who  had  been  good-natured  enough  to  seat 
himself  at  the  piano,  struck  a  thunderous  chord  ;  but  in  the 
same  instant,  and  before  Hermione  had  put  forth  her  foot,  the 
movable  panel,  which  was  on  a  line  with  the  piano,  flew  open 


62  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

on  the  riglit,  opposite  tlie  stage,  and  disclosed  the  picture  of  the 
dead  face  and  the  fleeing  figure,  brought  out  in  pale  definite- 
ness  by  the  position  of  the  wax-lights.  Every  one  was  startled, 
but  all  eyes  in  the  act  of  turning  toward  the  opened  panel  were 
recalled  by  a  piercing  cry  from  Gwendolen,  who  stood  without 
change  of  attitude,  but  with  a  change  of  expression  that  was 
terrifying  in  its  terror.  She  looked  like  a  statue  into  which  a 
soul  of  Fear  had  entered :  her  pallid  lips  were  parted ;  her  eyes, 
usually  narrowed  under  their  long  lashes,  were  dilated  and  fixed. 
Her  mother,  less  surprised  than  alarmed,  rushed  toward  her, 
and  Rex,  too,  could  not  help  going  to  her  side.  But  the  touch 
of  her  mother's  arm  had  the  effect  of  an  electric  charge :  Gwen- 
dolen fell  on  her  knees  and  put  her  hands  before  her  face.  She 
was  still  trembling,  but  mute ;  and  it  seemed  that  she  had  self- 
consciousness  enough  to  aim  at  controlling  her  signs  of  terror, 
for  she  presently  allowed  herself  to  be  raised  from  her  kneeling 
posture  and  led  away,  while  the  company  were  relieving  their 
minds  by  explanation. 

"A  magnificent  bit  oi  plastik  that!"  said  Klesmer  to  Miss 
Arrowpoint.  And  a  quick  fire  of  under-toned  question  and  an- 
swer went  round. 

"  Was  it  part  of  the  play  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  surely  not.  Miss  Harleth  was  too  much  affected. 
A  sensitive  creature !" 

"  Dear  me !  I  was  not  aware  that  there  was  a  painting  be- 
hind that  panel ;  were  you  ?" 

"  No ;  how  should  I  ?  Some  eccentricity  in  one  of  the  earPs 
family  long  ago,  I  suppose." 

"  How  very  painful !     Pray  shut  it  up." 

"  Was  the  door  locked  ?  It  is  very  mysterious.  It  must  be 
the  spirits." 

"But  there  is  no  medium  present." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  We  must  conclude  that  there  is, 
when  such  things  happen." 

"  Oh,  the  door  was  not  locked ;  it  was  probably  the  sudden 
vibration  from  the  piano  that  sent  it  open." 

This  conclusion  came  from  Mr.  Gascoigne,  who  begged  Miss 
Merry,  if  possible,  to  get  the  key.  But  this  readiness  to  ex- 
plain the  mystery  was  thought  by  Mrs.  Vulcany  unbecoming  in 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  63 

a  clergyman,  and  she  observed  in  an  under-tone  that  Mr.  Gas- 
coigne  was  always  a  little  too  worldly  for  her  taste.  However, 
the  key  was  produced,  and  the  rector  turned  it  in  the  lock  with 
an  emphasis  rather  offensively  rationalizing  —  as  who  should 
say,  "It  will  not  start  open  again" — putting  the  key  in  his 
pocket  as  a  security. 

However,  Gwendolen  soon  re -appeared,  showing  her  usual 
spirits,  and  evidently  determined  to  ignore  as  far  as  she  could 
the  striking  change  she  had  made  in  the  part  of  Hermione. 

But  when  Klesmer  said  to  her,  "  We  have  to  thank  you  for 
devising  a  perfect  climax :  you  could  not  have  chosen  a  finer 
bit  of  plastik,''^  there  was  a  flush  of  pleasure  in  her  face.  She 
liked  to  accept  as  a  belief  w-hat  was  really  no  more  than  deli- 
cate feigning.  He  divined  that  the  betrayal  into  a  passion  of 
fear  had  been  mortifying  to  her,  and  wished  her  to  understand 
that  he  took  it  for  good  acting.  Gwendolen  cherished  the  idea 
that  now  he  was  struck  with  her  talent  as  well  as  her  beauty, 
and  her  uneasiness  about  his  opinion  was  half  turned  to  com- 
placency. 

But  too  many  were  in  the  secret  of  what  had  been  included 
in  the  rehearsals  and  what  had  not,  and  no  one  besides  Kles- 
mer took  the  trouble  to  soothe  Gwendolen's  imagined  mortifi- 
cation. The  general  sentiment  was  that  the  incident  should  be 
let  drop. 

There  had  really  been  a  medium  concerned  in  the  starting- 
open  of  the  panel ;  one  who  had  quit  the  room  in  haste  and 
crept  to  bed  in  much  alarm  of  conscience.  It  was  the  small 
Isabel,  whose  intense  curiosity,  unsatisfied  by  the  brief  glimpse 
she  had  had  of  the  strange  picture  on  the  day  of  arrival  at  Of- 
fendene,  had  kept  her  on  the  watch  for  an  opportunity  of  find- 
ing out  where  Gwendolen  had  put  the  key,  of  stealing  it  from 
the  discovered  drawer  when  the  rest  of  the  family  were  out, 
and  getting  on  a  stool  to  unlock  the  panel.  While  she  was  in- 
dulging her  thirst  for  knowledge  in  this  way,  a  noise  which  she 
feared  was  an  approaching  footstep  alarmed  her ;  she  closed 
the  door  and  attempted  hurriedly  to  lock  it,  but  failing  and  not 
daring  to  linger,  she  withdrew  the  key,  and  trusted  that  the 
panel  would  stick,  as  it  seemed  well  inclined  to  do.  In  this 
confidence  she  had  returned  the  key  to  its  former  place,  stilling 


64  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

any  anxiety  by  the  thouglit  that  if  the  door  were  discovered  to 
be  unlocked  nobody  could  know  how  the  unlocking  came  about. 
The  inconvenient  Isabel,  like  other  offenders,  did  not  foresee 
her  own  impulse  to  confession,  a  fatality  which  came  upon  her 
the  morning  after  the  party,  when  Gwendolen  said  at  the  break- 
fast-table, "  I  know  the  door  was  locked  before  the  housekeeper 
gave  me  the  key,  for  I  tried  it  myself  afterward.  Some  one 
must  have  been  to  my  drawer  and  taken  the  key." 

It  seemed  to  Isabel  that  Gwendolen's  awful  eyes  had  rested 
on  her  more  than  on  the  other  sisters,  and  without  any  time  for 
resolve  she  said,  with  a  trembling  lip,  "  Please  forgive  me,  Gwen- 
dolen !" 

The  forgiveness  was  sooner  bestowed  than  it  would  have 
been  if  Gwendolen  had  not  desired  to  dismiss  from  her  own 
and  every  one  else's  memory  any  case  in  which  she  had  shown 
her  susceptibility  to  terror.  She  wondered  at  herself  in  these 
occasional  experiences,  which  seemed  like  a  brief  remembered 
madness,  an  unexplained  exception  from  her  normal  life ;  and  in 
this  instance  she  felt  a  peculiar  vexation  that  her  helpless  fear 
had  shown  itself,  not,  as  usual,  in  solitude,  but  in  well-lighted 
company.  Her  ideal  was  to  be  daring  in  speech  and  reckless 
in  braving  dangers,  both  moral  and  physical ;  and  though  her 
practice  fell  far  behind  her  ideal,  this  shortcoming  seemed  to 
be  due  to  the  pettiness  of  circumstances,  the  narrow  theatre 
which  life  offers  to  a  girl  of  twenty,  who  can  not  conceive  her- 
self as  any  thing  else  than  a  lady,  or  as  in  any  position  which 
would  lack  the  tribute  of  respect.  She  had  no  permanent  con- 
sciousness of  other  fetters,  or  of  more  spiritual  restraints,  hav- 
ing always  disliked  whatever  was  presented  to  her  under  the 
name  of  religion,  in  the  same  way  that  some  people  dislike 
arithmetic  and  accounts :  it  had  raised  no  other  emotion  in  her, 
no  alarm,  no  longing ;  so  that  the  question,  whether  she  believed 
it,  had  not  occurred  to  her,  any  more  than  it  had  occurred  to 
her  to  inquire  into  the  conditions  of  colonial  property  and 
banking,  on  which,  as  she  had  had  many  opportunities  of  know- 
ing, the  family  fortune  was  dependent.  All  these  facts  about 
herself  she  would  have  been  ready  to  admit,  and  even,  more  or 
less  indirectly,  to  state.  What  she  unwillingly  recognized  and 
would  have  been  glad  for  others  to  be  unaware  of,  was  that  li- 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  65 

ability  of  hers  to  fits  of  spiritual  dread,  though  this  fountain 
of  awe  within  her  had  not  found  its  way  into  connection  with 
the  religion  taught  her,  or  with  any  human  relations.  She  was 
ashamed  and  frightened,  as  at  what  might  happen  again,  in  re- 
membering her  tremor  on  suddenly  feeling  herself  alone,  when, 
for  example,  she  was  walking  without  companionship  and  there 
came  some  rapid  change  in  the  light.  Solitude  in  any  wide 
scene  impressed  her  with  an  undefined  feeling  of  immeasurable 
existence  aloof  from  her,  in  the  midst  of  which  she  was  help- 
lessly incapable  of  asserting  herself.  The  little  astronomy 
taught  her  at  school  used  sometimes  to  set  her  imagination  at 
work  in  a  way  that  made  her  tremble ;  but  always  when  some 
one  joined  her  she  recovered  her  indifference  to  the  vastness  in 
which  she  seemed  an  exile ;  she  found  again  her  usual  world 
in  which  her  will  was  of  some  avail,  and  the  religious  nomen- 
clature belonging  to  this  world  was  no  more  identified  for  her 
with  those  uneasy  impressions  of  awe  than  her  uncle's  surplices 
seen  out  of  use  at  the  rectory.  "With  human  ears  and  eyes 
about  her,  she  had  always  hitherto  recovered  her  confidence, 
and  felt  the  possibility  of  winning  empire. 

To  her  mamma  and  others  her  fits  of  timidity  or  terror  were 
sufficiently  accounted  for  by  her  "  sensitiveness  "  or  the  "  ex- 
citability of  her  nature ;"  but  these  explanatory  phrases  re- 
quired conciliation  with  much  that  seemed  to  be  blank  indif- 
ference or  rare  self-mastery.  Heat  is  a  great  agent  and  a  use- 
ful word,  but  considered  as  a  means  of  explaining  the  universe 
it  requires  an  extensive  knowledge  of  differences;  and  as  a 
means  of  explaining  character,  "  sensitiveness  "  is  in  much  the 
same  predicament.  But  who,  loving  a  creature  like  Gwendolen, 
would  not  be  inclined  to  regard  every  peculiarity  in  her  as  a 
mark  of  pre-eminence?  That  was  what  Eex  did.  After  the 
Hermione  scene  he  was  more  persuaded  than  ever  that  she 
must  be  instinct  with  all  feeling,  and  not  only  readier  to  re- 
spond to  a  worshipful  love,  but  able  to  love  better  than  other 
girls.  Rex  felt  the  summer  on  his  young  wings,  and  soared 
happily. 


66  DANIEL    DERONDA. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

'■^Perigot  As  the  bonny  lasse  passed  bye, 
Willie.    Hey,  ho,  bonnilasse  ! 
Perigot.  She  roode  at  me  with  glauncing  eye, 
Willie.    As  clear  as  the  crystall  glasse. 
Perigot.  All  as  the  sunny  beame  so  bright, 
Willie.    Hey,  ho,  the  sunnebeame ! 
Perigot.  Glaunceth  from  Phoebus'  face  forthright, 
Willie.    So  love  into  thy  heart  did  streame." 

Spenser  :  Shqykeard^s  Calendar. 

"The  kindliest  symptom,  yet  the  most  alarming  crisis  in  the  ticklish 
state  of  youth ;  the  nourisher  and  destroyer  of  hopeful  wits  ;  . . .  the  servi- 
tude above  freedom ;  the  gentle  mind's  religion ;  the  liberal  superstition." 
— Charles  L^b. 

The  first  sio-n  of  the  unimaojined  snow-storm  was  like  the 
transparent  white  cloud  that  seems  to  set  off  the  blue.  Anna 
was  in  the  secret  of  Rex's  feeling ;  though  for  the  first  time  in 
their  lives  he  had  said  nothing  to  her  about  what  he  most 
thought  of,  and  he  only  took  it  for  granted  that  she  knew  it. 
For  the  first  time,  too,  Anna  could  not  say  to  Rex  what  was 
continually  in  her  mind.  Perhaps  it  might  have  been  a  pain 
which  she  would  have  had  to  conceal,  that  he  should  so  soon 
care  for  some  one  else  more  than  for  herself,  if  such  a  feeling 
had  not  been  thoroughly  neutralized  by  doubt  and  anxiety  on 
his  behalf.  Anna  admired  her  cousin — would  have  said  with 
simple  sincerity,  "  Gwendolen  is  always  very  good  to  me,"  and 
held  it  in  the  order  of  things  for  herself  to  be  entirely  subject 
to  this  cousin ;  but  she  looked  at  her  with  mingled  fear  and 
distrust,  with  a  puzzled  contemplation  as  of  some  wondrous 
and  beautiful  animal  whose  nature  was  a  mystery,  and  who,  for 
any  thing  Anna  knew,  might  have  an  appetite  for  devouring  all 
the  small  creatures  that  were  her  own  particular  pets.  And 
now  Anna's  heart  was  sinking  under  the  heavy  conviction 
which  she  dared  not  utter,  that  Gwendolen  would  never  care 
for  Rex.     Wliat  she  herself  held  in  tenderness  and  reverence 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  67 

had  constantly  seemed  indifferent  to  Gwendolen,  and  it  was 
easier  to  imagine  her  scorning  Rex  than  returning  any  tender- 
ness of  his.  Besides,  she  was  always  thinking  of  being  some- 
thing extraordinary.  And  poor  Rex !  Papa  w^ould  be  angry 
with  him,  if  he  knew.  And  of  course  he  was  too  young  to  be 
in  love  in  that  way ;  and  she,  Anna,  had  thought  that  it  would 
be  years  and  years  before  any  thing  of  that  sort  came,  and  that 
she  would  be  Rex's  housekeeper  ever  so  long.  But  what  a 
heart  must  that  be  Avhich  did  not  return  his  love !  Anna,  in 
the  prospect  of  his  suffering,  was  beginning  to  dislike  her  too 
fascinating  cousin. 

It  seemed  to  her,  as  it  did  to  Rex,  that  the  weeks  had  been 
filled  with  a  tumultuous  life  evident  to  all  observers :  if  he  had 
been  questioned  on  the  subject,  he  would  have  said  that  he  had 
no  wish  to  conceal  what  he  hoped  would  be  an  engagement 
which  he  should  immediately  tell  his  father  of ;  and  yet  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  was  reserved  not  only  about  his  feelings, 
but — which  was  more  remarkable  to  Anna — about  certain  ac- 
tions. She,  on  her  side,  was  nervous  each  time  her  father  or 
mother  began  to  speak  to  her  in  private,  lest  they  should  say 
any  thing  about  Rex  and  Gwendolen.  But  the  elders  were  not 
in  the  least  alive  to  this  agitating  drama,  which  went  forward 
chiefly  in  a  sort  of  pantomime  extremely  lucid  in  the  minds 
thus  expressing  themselves,  but  easily  missed  by  spectators  wdio 
were  running  their  eyes  over  the  Guardian  or  the  Clerical 
Gazette,  and  regarded  the  trivialities  of  the  young  ones  with 
scarcely  more  interpretation  than  they  gave  to  the  actions  of 
lively  ants. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Rex  ?"  said  Anna,  one  gray  morning, 
when  her  father  had  set  off  in  the  carriage  to  the  sessions,  Mrs. 
Gascoigne  with  him,  and  she  had  observed  that  her  brother 
had  on  his  antigropelos,  the  utmost  approach  he  possessed  to  a 
hunting  equipment. 

"  Going  to  se^  the  hounds  throw  off  at  the  Three  Barns." 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  Gwendolen  ?"  said  Anna,  timidly. 

"She  told  you,  did  she?" 

"  No,  but  I  thought —     Does  papa  know  you  are  going  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  am  aware  of.  I  don't  suppose  he  would  trouble 
himself  about  the  matter." 


68  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  You  are  going  to  use  liis  horse  ?" 

"  He  knows  I  do  that  whenever  I  can." 

"Don't  let  Gwendolen  ride  after  the  hounds,  Rex,"  said 
Anna,  whose  fears  gifted  her  with  second-sight. 

"  Why  not  ?"  said  Rex,  smiling  rather  provokingly. 

"  Papa  and  mamma  and  Aunt  Davilow  all  wish  her  not  to. 
They  think  it  is  not  right  for  her." 

"Why  should  you  suppose  she  is  going  to  do  what  is  not 
right?" 

"  Gwendolen  minds  nobody  sometimes,"  said  Anna,  getting 
bolder  by  dint  of  a  little  anger. 

"  Then  she  would  not  mind  me,"  said  Rex,  perversely  mak- 
ing a  joke  of  poor  Anna's  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  Rex,  I  can  not  bear  it.  You  will  make  yourself  very 
unhappy."     Here  Anna  burst  into  tears. 

"  Nannie,  Nannie,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 
said  Rex,  a  little  impatient  at  being  kept  in  this  way,  hat  on 
and  whip  in  hand. 

"  She  will  not  care  for  you  one  bit — I  know  she  never  will !" 
said  the  poor  child  in  a  sobbing  whisper.  She  had  lost  all  con- 
trol  of  herself. 

Rex  reddened,  and  hurried  away  from  her  out  of  the  hall 
door,  leaving  her  to  the  miserable  consciousness  of  having  made 
herself  disagreeable  in  vain. 

He  did  think  of  her  words  as  he  rode  along :  they  had  the 
unwelcomeness  which  all  unfavorable  fortune -telling  has,  even 
when  laughed  at ;  but  he  quickly  explained  them  as  springing 
from  little  Anna's  tenderness,  and  began  to  be  sorry  that  he 
w^as  obliged  to  come  away  without  soothing  her.  Every  other 
feeling  on  the  subject,  however,  was  quickly  merged  in  a  resist- 
ant belief  to  the  contrary  of  hers,  accompanied  with  a  new  de- 
termination to  prove  that  he  was  right.  This  sort  of  certainty 
had  just  enough  kinship  to  doubt  and  uneasiness  to  hurry  on  a 
confession  which  an  untouched  security  might  Tiave  delayed. 

Gwendolen  was  already  mounted,  and  riding  up  and  down 
the  avenue,  when  Rex  appeared  at  the  gate.  She  had  provided 
herself  against  disappointment  in  case  he  did  not  appear  in 
time  by  having  the  groom  ready  behind  her,  for  she  would  not 
have  waited  beyond  a  reasonable  time.     But  now  the  groom 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  69 

was  dismissed,  and  the  two  rode  away  in  delightful  freedom. 
Gwendolen  was  in  her  highest  spirits,  and  Rex  thought  that 
she  had  never  looked  so  lovely  before:  her  figure,  her  long 
white  throat,  and  the  curves  of  her  cheek  and  chin,  were  al- 
ways set  off  to  perfection  by  the  compact  simplicity  of  her 
riding-dress.  He  could  not  conceive  a  more  perfect  girl ;  and 
to  a  youthful  lover  like  Rex  it  seems  that  the  fundamental 
identity  of  the  good,  the  true,  and  the  beautiful  is  already  ex- 
tant and  manifest  in  the  object  of  his  love.  Most  observers 
would  have  held  it  more  than  equally  accountable  that  a  girl 
should  have  like  impressions  about  Rex,  for  in  his  handsome 
face  there  was  nothing  corresponding  to  the  indefinable  sting- 
ing quality  —  as  it  were  a  trace  of  demon  ancestry  —  which 
made  some  beholders  hesitate  in  their  admiration  of  Gwen- 
dolen. 

It  was  an  exquisite  January  morning  in  which  there  was  no 
threat  of  rain,  but  a  gray  sky  making  the  calmest  background 
for  the  charms  of  a  mild  winter  scene — the  grassy  borders  of 
the  lanes,  the  hedge-rows  sprinkled  with  red  berries  and  haunt- 
ed with  low  twitterings,  the  purple  bareness  of  the  elms,  the 
rich  brown  of  the  furrows.  The  horses'  hoofs  made  a  musical 
chime,  accompanying  their  young  voices.  She  was  laughing 
at  his  equipment,  for  he  was  the  reverse  of  a  dandy,  and  he 
was  enjoying  her  laughter :  the  freshness  of  the  morning  min- 
gled with  the  freshness  of  their  youth ;  and  every  sound  that 
came  from  their  clear  throats,  every  glance  they  gave  each  oth- 
er, was  the  bubbling  outflow  from  a  spring  of  joy.  It  was  all 
morning  to  them,  within  and  without.  And  thinking  of  them 
in  these  moments  one  is  tempted  to  that  futile  sort  of  wishing 
— if  only  things  could  have  been  a  little  otherwise  then,  so  as 
to  have  been  greatly  otherwise  after ! — if  only  these  two  beau- 
tiful young  creatures  could  have  pledged  themselves  to  each 
other  then  and  there,  and  never  through  life  have  swerved 
from  that  pledge !  For  some  of  the  goodness  which  Rex  be- 
lieved in  was  there.  Goodness  is  a  large,  often  a  prospective 
word ;  like  harvest,  which  at  one  stage  when  we  talk  of  it  lies 
all  under -ground,  with  an  indeterminate  future:  is  the  germ 
prospering  in  the  darkness  ?  at  another,  it  has  put  forth  deli- 
cate green  blades,  and  by-and-by  the  trembling  blossoms  are 


70  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

ready  to  be  dashed  off  by  an  hour  of  rough  wind  or  rain. 
Each  stage  has  its  peculiar  blight,  and  may  have  the  healthy 
life  choked  out  of  it  by  a  particular  action  of  the  foul  land 
which  rears  or  neighbors  it,  or  by  damage  brought  from  foul- 
ness afar. 

"Anna  has  got  it  into  her  head  that  you  would  want  to  ride 
after  the  hounds  this  morning,"  said  Rex,  whose  secret  associa- 
tions with  Anna's  words  made  this  speech  seem  quite  perilous- 
ly near  the  most  momentous  of  subjects. 

"  Did  she  ?"  said  Gwendolen,  laughingly.  "  What  a  little 
clairvoyante  she  is !" 

"  Shall  you  ?"  said  Rex,  who  had  not  believed  in  her  intend- 
ing to  do  it  if  the  elders  objected,  but  confided  in  her  having 
good  reasons. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  can't  tell  what  I  shall  do  till  I  get  there. 
Clairvoyantes  are  often  wrong :  they  foresee  what  is  likely.  I 
am  not  fond  of  what  is  likely  ;  it  is  always  dull.  I  do  what  is 
unlikely." 

"Ah,  there  you  tell  me  a  secret.  When  once  I  knew  what 
people  in  general  would  be  likely  to  do,  I  should  know  you 
would  do  the  opposite.  So  you  would  have  to  come  round  to 
a  likelihood  of  your  own  sort.  I  shall  be  able  to  calculate  on 
you.     You  couldn't  surprise  me."  ► 

"  Yes,  I  could.  I  should  turn  round  and  do  what  was  likely 
for  people  in  general,"  said  Gwendolen,  with  a  musical  laugh. 

"You  see  you  can't  escape  some  sort  of  likelihood.  And 
contradictoriness  makes  the  strongest  likelihood  of  all. .  You 
must  give  up  a  plan." 

"No,  I  shall  not.  My  plan  is  to  do  what  pleases  me." 
(Here  should  any  young  lady  incline  to  imitate  Gwendolen,  let 
her  consider  the  set  of  her  head  and  neck:  if  the  angle  there 
had  been  different,  the  chin  protrusive,  and  the  cervical  verte- 
brae a  trifle  more  curved  in  their  position,  ten  to  one  Gwendo- 
len's words  would  have  had  a  jar  in  them  for  the  sweet-natured 
Rex.  But  every  thing  odd  in  her  speech  was  humor  and  pretty 
banter,  which  he  was  only  anxious  to  turn  toward  one  point.) 

"  Can  you  manage  to  feel  only  what  pleases  you  ?"  said  he. 

"  Of  course  not ;  that  comes  from  what  other  people  do. 
But  if  the  world  were  pleasanter,  one  would  only  feelVhat  was 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  7l 

pleasant.  Girls'  lives  are  so  stupid :  they  never  do  what  they 
like." 

"  I  thought  that  was  more  the  case  of  the  men.  They  are 
forced  to  do  hard  things,  and  are  often  dreadfully  bored,  and 
knocked  to  pieces  too.  And  then,  if  we  love  a  girl  very  dear- 
ly, we  want  to  do  as  she  likes  ;  so,  after  all,  you  have  your  own 
way." 

"  I  don't  believe  it.  I  never  saw  a  married  woman  who  had 
her  own  way." 

"What  should  you  like  to  do?"  said  Rex,  quite  guilelessly, 
and  in  real  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know ! — go  to  the  North  Pole,  or  ride  steeple- 
chases, or  go  to  be  a  queen  in  the  East  like  Lady  Hester  Stan- 
hope," said  Gwendolen,  flightily.  Her  words  were  born  on  her 
lips,  but  she  would  have  been  at  a  loss  to  give  an  answer  of 
deeper  origin. 

"  You  don't  mean  you  would  never  be  married  ?" 

"  No ;  I  didn't  say  that.  Only  when  I  married,  I  should  not 
do  as  other  women  do." 

"  You  might  do  just  as  you  liked,  if  you  married  a  man  who 
loved  you  more  dearly  than  any  thing  else  in  the  world,"  said 
Rex,  who,  poor  youth,  was  moving  in  themes  outside  the  curric- 
ulum in  which  he  had  promised  to  win  distinction.  "  I  know 
one  who  does." 

"  Don't  talk  of  Mr.  Middleton,  for  Heaven's  sake !"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, hastily,  a  quick  blush  spreading  over  her  face  and  neck ; 
"  that  is  Anna's  chant.     I  hear  the  hounds.     Let  us  go  on." 

She  put  her  chestnut  to  a  canter,  and  Rex  had  no  choice 
but  to  follow  her.  Still  he  felt  encouraged.  Gwendolen  was 
perfectly  aware  that  her  cousin  was  in  love  with  her ;  but  she 
had  no  idea  that  the  matter  was  of  any  consequence,  having 
never  had  the  slightest  visitation  of  painful  love  herself.  She 
wished  the  small  romance  of  Rex's  devotion  to  fill  up  the  time 
of  his  stay  at  Pennicote,  and  to  avoid  explanations  which  would 
bring  it  to  an  untimely  end.  Besides,  she  objected,  with  a  sort 
of  physical  repulsion,  to  being  directly  made  love  to.  AVith 
all  her  imaginative  delight  in  being  adored,  there  was  a  certain 
fierceness  of  maidenhood  in  her. 

But  all  other  thoughts  were  soon  lost  for  her  in  the  excite- 


72 


DANIEL    DERONDA. 


ment  of  the  scene  at  the  Three  Barns.  Several  gentlemen  of 
the  hunt  knew  her,  and  she  exchanged  pleasant  greetings.  Rex 
could  not  get  another  word  with  her.  The  color,  the  stir  of 
the  field  had  taken  possession  of  Gwendolen  with  a  strength 
which  was  not  due  to  habitual  association,  for  she  had  never 
yet  ridden  after  the  hounds — only  said  she  should  like  to  do 
it,  and  so  drawn  forth  a  prohibition ;  her  mamma  dreading  the 
danger,  and  her  uncle  declaring  that,  for  his  part,  he  held  that 
kind  of  violent  exercise  unseemly  in  a  woman,  and  that,  what- 
ever might  be  done  in  other  parts  of  the  country,  no  lady  of 
good  position  fallowed  the  Wessex  hunt:  no  one  but  Mrs. 
Gadsby,  the  yeomanry  captain's  wife,  who  had  been  a  kitchen- 
maid,  and  still  spoke  lilJ:e  one.  This  last  argument  had  some 
effect  on  Gwendolen,  and  had  kept  her  halting  between  her  de- 
sire to  assert  her  freedom,  and  her  horror  of  being  classed  with 
Mrs.  Gadsby. 

Some  of  the  most  unexceptionable  women  in  the  neighbor- 
hood occasionally  went  to  see  the  hounds  throw  off;  but  it 
happened  that  none  of  them  were  present  this  morning  to  ab- 
stain from  following,  while  Mrs.  Gadsby,  with  her  doubtful  an- 
tecedents, grammatical  and  otherwise,  was  not  visible  to  make 
following  seem  unbecoming.  Thus  Gwendolen  felt  no  check 
on  the  animal  stimulus  that  came  from  the  stir  and  tongue  of 
the  hounds,  the  pawing  of  the  horses,  the  varying  voices  of 
men,  the  movement  hither  and  thither  of  vivid  color  on  the 
background  of  green  and  gray  stillness  —  that  utmost  excite- 
ment of  the  coming  chase  which  consists  in  feeling  something 
like  a  combination  of  dog  and  horse,  with  the  superadded  thrill 
of  social  vanities  and  consciousness  of  centaur-power  which  be- 
long to  human  kind. 

Rex  would  have  felt  more  of  the  same  enjoyment  if  he  could 
have  kept  nearer  to  Gwendolen,  and  not  seen  her  constantly  oc- 
cupied with  acquaintances,  or  looked  at  by  would-be  acquaint- 
ances, all  on  lively  horses  which  veered  about  and  swept  the 
surrounding  space  as  effectually  as  a  revolving  lever. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  here  this  fine  morning.  Miss  Harleth,"  said 
Lord  Brackenshaw,  a  middle-aged  peer  of  aristocratic  seediness, 
in  stained  pink,  with  easy-going  manners  which  would  have 
made  the  threatened  Deluge  seem  of  no  consequence.     "  We 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  73 

shall  have  a  first-rate  run.  A  pity  you  don't  go  with  us.  Have 
you  ever  tried  your  little  chestnut  at  a  ditch  ?  you  wouldn't  be 
afraid,  eh?" 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world,"  said  Gwendolen.  And  this 
was  true ;  she  was  never  fearful  in  action  and  companionship. 
"  I  have  often  taken  him  at  some  rails  and  a  ditch  too,  near — " 

"  Ah,  by  Jove !"  said  his  lordship*,  quietly,  in  notation  that 
something  was  happening  which  must  break  off  the  dialogue ; 
and  as  he  reined  off  his  horse.  Rex  was  bringing  his  sober  hack- 
ney up  to  Gwendolen's  side  when — the  hounds  gave  tongue,  and 
the  whole  field  was  in  motion  as  if  the  whirl  of  the  earth  were 
carrying  it ;  Gwendolen  along  with  every  thing  else ;  no  word 
of  notice  to  Rex,  who  without  a  second  thoughl  followed  too. 
Could  he  let  Gwendolen  go  alone  ?  under  other  circumstances  he 
w^ould  have  enjoyed  the  run,  but  he  was  just  now  perturbed  by 
the  check  which  had  been  put  on  the  impetus  to  utter  his  love, 
and  get  utterance  in  return,  an  impetus  which  could  not  at  once 
resolve  itself  into  a  totally  different  sort  of  chase,  at  least  with 
the  consciousness  of  being  on  his  father's  gray  nag,  a  good  horse 
enough  in  his  way,  but  of  sober  years  and  ecclesiastical  habits. 
Gwendolen,  on  her  spirited  little  chestnut,  was  up  with  the  best, 
and  felt  as  secure  as  an  immortal  goddess,  having,  if  she  had 
thought  of  risk,  a  core  of  confidence  that  no  ill  luck  would  hap- 
pen to  her.  But  she  thought  of  no  such  thing,  and  certainly 
not  of  any  risk  there  might  be  for  her  cousin.  If  she  had 
thought  of  him,  it  would  have  struck  her  as  a  droll  picture 
that  he  should  be  gradually  falling  behind,  and  looking  round 
in  search  of  gates :  a  fine  lithe  youth,  whose  heart  must  be 
panting  with  all  the  spirit  of  a  beagle,  stuck,  as  if  under  a  wiz- 
ard's spell,  on  a  stiff  clerical  hackney,  would  have  made  her 
laugh  with  a  sense  of  fun  much  too  strong  for  her  to  reflect  on 
his  mortification.  But  Gwendolen  was  apt  to  think  rather  of 
those  who  saw  her  than  of  those  whom  she  could  not  see ;  and 
Rex  was  soon  so  far  behind  that  if  she  had  looked  she  would 
not  have  seen  him.  For  I  grieve  to  say  that  in  the  search  for 
a  gate,  along  a  lane  lately  mended.  Primrose  fell,  broke  his 
knees,  and  undesignedly  threw  Rex  over  his  head. 

Fortunately,  a  blacksmith's  son,  who  also  followed  the  hounds 
under  disadvantages,  namely,  on  foot  (a  loose  way  of  hunting 

Vol.  I.— 4 


74  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

which  had  struck  some  even  frivolous  minds  as  immoral),  was 
naturally  also  in  the  rear,  and  happened  to  be  within  sight  of 
Rex's  misfortune.  He  ran  to  give  help,  which  was  greatly 
needed,  for  Rex  was  a  good  deal  stunned,  and  the  complete  re- 
covery of  sensation  came  in  the  form  of  pain.  Joel  Dagge  on 
this  occasion  showed  himself  that  most  useful  of  personages, 
whose  knowledge  is  of  a  kind  suited  to  the  immediate  occa- 
sion :  he  not  only  knew  perfectly  well  what  was  the  matter 
with  the  horse,  how  far  they  were  both  from  the  nearest  pub- 
lic-house and  from  Pennicote  Rectory,  and  could  certify  to  Rex 
that  his  shoulder  was  only  a  bit  out  of  joint,  but  also  offered 
experienced  surgical  aid. 

•  "  Lord,  sir,  let  me  shove  it  in  again  for  you.  .Fs  see  Nash 
the  bone-setter  do  it,  and  done  it  myself  for  our  little  Sally 
twice  over.  It's  all  one  and  the  same,  shoulders  is.  If  you'll 
trusten  to  me  and  tighten  your  mind  up  a  bit,  I'll  do  it  for  you 
in  no  time." 

"  Come,  then,  old  fellow,"  said  Rex,  who  could  tighten  his 
mind  better  than  his  seat  in  the  saddle.  And  Joel  managed 
the  operation,  though  not  without  considerable  expense  of  pain 
to  his  patient,  who  turned  so  pitiably  pale  wdiile  tightening  his 
mind,  that  Joel  remarked,  "Ah,  sir,  you  aren't  used  to  it,  that's 
how  it  is.  I's  see  lots  and  lots  o'  joints  out.  I  see  a  man  wit'h 
his  eye  pushed  out  once — that  was  a  rum  go  as  ever  I  see :  you 
can't  have  a  bit  o'  fun  wi'out  such  a  sort  o'  things — but  it  went 
in  again.  I's  sw^allowed  three  teeth  mysen,  as  sure  as  I'm  alive. 
Now",  sirrey  "  (this  was  addressed  to  Primrose),  "  come  alonk — 
you  mustn't  make  believe  as  you  can't." 

Joel  being  clearly  a  low  character,  it  is  happily  not  necessary 
to  say  more  of  him  to  the  refined  reader,  than  that  he  helped 
Rex  to  get  home  with  as  little  delay  as  possible.  There  was 
no  alternative  but  to  get  home,  though  all  the  while  he  was  in 
anxiety  about  Gwendolen,  and  more  miserable  in  the  thought 
that  she  too  might  have  had  an  accident  than  in  the  pain  of 
his  own  bruises  and  the  annoyance  he  was  about  to  cause  his  fa- 
ther. He  comforted  himself  about  her  by  reflecting  that  every 
one  would  be  'anxious  to  take  care  of  her,  and  that  some  ac- 
quaintance would  be  sure  to  conduct  her  home. 

Mr.  Gascoigne  was  already  at  home,  and  was  writing  letters 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  75 

in  liis  study,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  seeing  poor  Rex  come 
in  with  a  face  which  was  not  the  less  handsome  and  ingratia- 
ting for  being  pale  and  a  little  distressed.  He  was  secretly  the 
favorite  son,  and  a  young  portrait  of  the  father ;  who,  however, 
never  treated  him  with  any  partiality  —  rather,  with  an  extra 
rigor.  Mr.  Gascoigne  having  inquired  of  Anna,  knew  that  Rex 
had  gone  with  Gwendolen  to  the  meet  at  the  Three  Bams. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  he  said,  hastily,  not  laying  down  his 
pen. 

*'  Fm  very  sorry,  sir ;  Primrose  has  fallen  down  and  broken 
his  knees." 

"  Where  have  you  been  with  him  ?"  said  Mr.  Gascoigne,  with 
a  touch  of  severity.     He  rarely  gave  way  to  temper. 

"  To  the  Three  Barns  to  see  the  hounds  throw  off." 

"  And  you  were  fool  enough  to  follow  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  didn't  go  at  any  fences,  but  the  horse  got  his 
leg  into  a  hole." 

"  And  you  got  hurt  yourself,  I  hope,  eh  ?" 

"  I  got  my  shoulder  put  out,  but  a  young  blacksmith  put  it 
in  again  for  me.     I'm  just  a  little  battered,  that's  all." 

"Well,  sit  down." 

"  I'm  very  sorry  about  the  horse,  sir.  I  knew  it  would  be  a 
vexation  to  you." 

"  And  what  has  become  of  Gwendolen  ?"  said  Mr.  Gascoigne, 
abruptly.  Rex,  who  did  not  imagine  that  his  father  had  made 
any  inquiries  about  him,  answered  at  first  with  a  blush  which 
was  the  more  remarkable  for  his  previous  paleness.  Then  he 
said,  nervously, 

"  I  am  anxious  to  know.  I  should  like  to  go  or  send  at  once 
to  Offendene;  but  she  rides  so  well,  and  I  think  she  would 
keep  up.     There  would  most  likely  be  many  round  her." 

"I  suppose  it  was  she  who  led  you  on,  eh?"  said  Mr.  Gas- 
coigne, laying  down  his  pen,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  and  look- 
ing at  Rex  with  more  marked  examination. 

"  It  was  natural  for  her  to  want  to  go ;  she  didn't  intend  it 
beforehand — she  was  led  away  by  the  spirit  of  the  thing.  And 
of  course  I  went  when  she  went." 

Mr.  Gascoigne  left  a  brief  interval  of  silence,  and  then  said, 
with  quiet  irony,  "But   now  you  observe,  young  gentleman, 


76  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

that  you  are  not  furnished  with  a  horse  which  will  enable  you 
to  play  the  squire  to  your  cousin.  You  must  give  up  that 
amusement.  You  have  spoiled  my  nag  for  me,  and  that  is 
enough  mischief  for  one  vacation.  I  shall  beg  you  to  get 
ready  to  start  for  Southampton  to-morrow  and  join  Stillfox, 
till  you  go  up  to  Oxford  with  him.  That  will  be  good  for 
your  bruises  as  well  as  your  studies." 

Poor  Rex  felt  his  heart  swelling  and  comporting  itself  as  if 
it  had  been  no  better  than  a  girl's. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  insist  on  my  going  immediately,  sir." 

*' Do  you  feel  too  ill?" 

"  No,  not  that,  but — "  here  Rex  bit  his  lips  and  felt  the  tears 
starting,  to  his  great  vexation  ;  then  he  rallied,  and  tried  to  say, 
more  firmly,  "  I  want  to  go  to  Offendene — but  I  can  go  this 
evening." 

"  I  am  going  there  myself.  I  can  bring  word  about  Gwen- 
dolen, if  that  is  what  you  want." 

Rex  broke  down.  He  thought  he  discerned  an  intention 
fatal  to  his  happiness,  nay,  his  life.  He  was  accustomed  to  be- 
lieve in  his  father's  penetration,  and  to  expect  firmness.  "  Fa- 
ther, I  can't  go  away  without  telling  her  that  I  love  her,  and 
knowing  that  she  loves  me." 

Mr.  Gascoigne  was  inwardly  going  through  some  self-rebuke 
for  not  being  more  wary,  and  was  now  really  sorry  for  the  lad ; 
but  every  consideration  was  subordinate  to  that  of  using  the 
wisest  tactics  in  the  case.  He  had  quickly  made  up  his  mind, 
and  could  answer  the  more  quietly. 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  are  too  young  to  be  taking  momentous, 
decisive  steps  of  that  sort.  This  is  a  fancy  which  you  have 
got  into  your  head  during  an  idle  week  or  two :  you  must  set 
to  work  at  something  and  dismiss  it.  There  is  every  reason 
against  it.  An  engagement  at  your  age  would  be  totally  rash 
and  unjustifiable ;  and,  moreover,  alliances  between  first  cousins 
are  undesirable.  Make  up  your  mind  to  a  brief  disappoint- 
ment. Life  is  full  of  them.  We  have  all-  got  to  be  broken  in ; 
and  this  is  a  mild  beginning  for  you." 

"  No,  not  mild.  I  can't  bear  it.  I  shall  be  good  for  noth- 
ing. I  shouldn't  mind  any  thing,  if  it  were  settled  between  us. 
I  could  do  any  thing  then,"  said  Rex,  impetuously.     "  But  it's 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  77 

of  no  use  to  pretend  that  I  will  obey  you.  I  can't  do  it.  If  I 
said  I  would,  I  should  be  sure  to  break  my  word.  I  should  see 
Gwendolen  again." 

"  Well,  wait  till  to-morrow  morning,  that  we  may  talk  of  the 
matter  again — you  will  promise  me  that  ?"  said  Mr.  Gascoigne, 
quietly  ;  and  Rex  did  not,  could  not,  refuse. 

The  rector  did  not  even  tell  his  wife  that  he  had  any  other 
reason  for  going  to  Offendene  that  evening  than  his  desire  to 
ascertain  that  Gwendolen  had  got  home  safely.  He  found  her 
more  than  safe — elated.  Mr.  Quallon,  who  had  won  the  brush, 
had  delivered  the  trophy  to  her,  and  she  had  brought  it  before 
her,  fastened  on  the  saddle ;  more  than  that.  Lord  Brackenshaw 
had  conducted  her  home,  and  had  shown  himself  delighted 
with  her  spirited  riding.  All  this  was  told  at  once  to  her  un- 
cle, that  he  might  see  how  well  justified  she  had  been  in  acting 
against  his  advice ;  and  the  prudential  rector  did  feel  himself 
in  a  slight  difficulty,  for  at  that  moment  he  was  particularly 
sensible  that  it  was  his  niece's  serious  interest  to  be  well  re~ 
garded  by  the  Brackenshaws,  and  their  opinion  as  to  her  fol- 
lowing the  hounds  really  touched  the  essence  of  his  objection. 
However,  he  was  not  obliged  to  say  any  thing  immediately,  for 
Mrs.  Davilow  followed  up  Gwendolen's  brief  triumphant  phrases 
with, 

"  Still,  I  do  hope  you  will  not  do  it  again,  Gwendolen.  I 
should  never  have  a  moment's  quiet.  Her  father  died  by  an 
accident,  you  know." 

Here  Mrs.  Davilow  had  turned  away  from  Gwendolen,  and 
looked  at  Mr.  Gascoigne. 

"Mamma  dear,"  said  Gwendolen,  kissing  her  merrily,  and 
passing  over  the  question  of  the  fears  which  Mrs.  Davilow  had 
meant  to  account  for,  "  children  don't  take  after  their  parents 
in  broken  legs." 

Not  one  word  had  yet  been  said  about  Rex.  In  fact,  there 
had  been  no  anxiety  about  him  at  Offendene.  Gwendolen  had 
observed  to  her  mamma,  "  Oh,  he  must  have  been  left  far  be- 
hind, and  gone  home  in  despair ;"  and  it  could  not  be  denied 
that  this  was  fortunate  so  far  as  it  made  way  for  Lord  Brack- 
enshaw's  bringing  heV  home.  But  now  Mr.  Gascoigne  said, 
with  some  emphasis,  looking  at  Gwendolen, 


78  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  Well,  the  exploit  has  ended  better  for  you  than  for  Rex." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  he  had.  to  make  a  terrible  round.  You 
have  not  taught  Primrose  to  take  the  fences,  uncle,"  said 
Gwendolen,  without  the  faintest  shade  of  alarm  in  her  looks 
and  tone. 

"  Rex  has  had  a  fall,"  said  Mr,  Gascoigne,  curtly,  throwing 
himself  into  an  arm-chair,  resting  his  elbows  and  fitting  his 
palms  and  fingers  together,  while  he  closed  his  lips,  and  looked 
at  Gwendolen,  who  said, 

"  Oh,  poor  fellow !  he  is  not  hurt,  I  hope  ?"  with  a  correct 
look  of  anxiety  such  as  elated  mortals  try  to  superinduce  when 
their  pulses  are  all  the  while  quick  with  triumph ;  and  Mrs. 
Davilow,  in  the  same  moment,  uttered  a  low  "  Good  heavens ! 
There !" 

Mr/  Gascoigne  went  on :  "  He  put  his  shoulder  out,  and  got 
some  bruises,  I  believe."  Here  he  made  another  little  pause  of 
observation  ;  but  Gwendolen,  instead  of  any  such  symptoms  as 
pallor  and  silence,  had  only  deepened  the  compassionateness  of 
her  brow  and  eyes,  and  said  again,  "  Oh,  poor  fellow !  it  is 
nothing  serious,  then  ?"  and  Mr.  Gascoigne  held  his  diagnosis 
complete.  But  he  wished  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  and 
went  on  still  with  a  purpose. 

"  He  got  his  arm  set  again  rather  oddly.  Some  blacksmith 
— not  a  parishioner  of  mine — was  on  the  field — a  loose  fish,  I 
suppose,  but  handy,  and  set  the  arm  for  him  immediately.  So, 
after  all,  I  believe,  I  and  Primrose  come  off  worst.  The  horse's 
knees  are  cut  to  pieces.  He  came  down  in  a  hole,  it  seems, 
and  pitched  Rex  over  his  head." 

Gwendolen's  face  had  allowably  become  contented  again, 
since  Rex's  arm  had  been  reset;  and  now,  at  the  descriptive 
suggestions  in  the  latter  part  of  her  uncle's  speech,  her  elated 
spirits  made  her  features  less  manageable  than  usual;  the 
smiles  broke  forth,  and  finally  a  descending  scale  of  laughter. 

"  You  are  a  pretty  young  lady — to  laugh  at  other  people's 
calamities !"  said  Mr.  Gascoigne,  with  a  milder  sense  of  disap- 
probation than  if  he  had  not  had  counteracting  reasons  to  be 
glad  that  Gwendolen  showed  no  deep  feeling  on  the  occasion. 

"  Pray  forgive  me,  uncle.  Now  Rex  is  safe,  it  is  so  droll  to 
fancy  the  figure  he  and  Primrose  would  cut  —  in  a  lane  all  by 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD. 


themselves — only  a  blacksmith  running  up.  It  would  make  a 
capital  caricature  of  '  Following  the  hounds.' " 

Gwendolen  rather  valued  herself  on  her  superior  freedom  in 
laughing  where  others  might  only  see  matter  for  seriousness. 
Indeed,  the  laughter  became  her  person  so  well  that  her  opin- 
ion of  its  gracefulness  was  often  shared  by  others ;  and  it  even 
entered  into  her  uncle's  course  of  thought  at  this  moment,  that  it 
was  no  wonder  a  boy  should  be  fascinated  by  this  young  witch 
— who,  however,  was  more  mischievous  than  could  be  desired. 

"  How  can  you  laugh  at  broken  bones,  child  ?"  said  Mrs.  Dav- 
ilow,  still  under  her  dominant  anxiety.  "  I  wish  we  had  never 
allowed  you  to  have  the  horse.  You  will  see  that  we  were 
wrong,"  she  added,  looking  with  a  grave  nod  at  Mr.  Gascoigne 
— "  at  least  I  was,  to  encourage  her  in  asking  for  it." 

"Yes,  seriously,  Gwendolen,"  said  Mr.  Gascoigne,  in  a  judi- 
cious tone  of  rational  advice  to  a  person  understood  to  be  alto- 
gether rational,  "  I  strongly  recommend  you  —  I  shall  ask  you 
to  oblige  me  so  far — not  to  repeat  your  adventure  of  to-day. 
Lord  Brackenshaw  is  very  kind,  but  I  feel  sure  that  he  would 
concur  with  me  in  what  I  say.  To  be  spoken  of  as  the  young 
lady  who  hunts  by  w^ay  of  exception  would  give  a  tone  to  the 
language  about  you  which  I  am  sure  you  would  not  like.  De- 
pend upon  it,  his  lordship  would  not  choose  that  Lady  Beatrice 
or  Lady  Maria  should  hunt  in  this  part  of  the  country,  if  she 
were  old  enough  to  do  so.  When  you  are  -married,  it  will  be 
different :  you  may  do  whatever  your  husband  sanctions.  But 
if  you  intend  to  hunt,  you  must  marry  a  man  who  can  keep 
horses." 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  do  any  thing  so  horrible  as  to 
marry  without  that  prospect,  at  least,"  said  Gwendolen,  pettish- 
ly. Her  uncle's  speech  had  given  her  annoyance,  which  she 
could  not  show  more  directly ;  but  she  felt  that  she  was  com- 
mitting herself,  and,  after  moving  carelessly  to  another  part  of 
the  room,  went  out. 

"  She  always  speaks  in  that  way  about  marriage,"  said  Mrs. 
Davilow ;  "  but  it  will  be  different  when  she  has  seen  the  right 
person." 

"Her  heart  has  never  been  in  the  least  touched,  that  you 
know  of  ?"  said  Mr.  Gascoiorne. 


80  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Mrs.  Davilow  shook  her  head  silently.  "  It  was  only  last 
night  she  said  to  me,  *  Mamma,  I  wonder  how  girls  manage  to 
fall  in  love.  It  is  easy  to  make  them  do  it  in  books.  But 
men  are  too  ridiculous.' " 

Mr.  Gascoigne  laughed  a  little,  and  made  no  further  remark 
on  the  subject.     The  next  morning  at  breakfast  he  said, 

"  How  are  your  bruises,  Rex  ?" 

"  Oh,  not  very  mellow  yet,  sir ;  only  beginning  to  turn  a 
little." 

"  You  don't  feel  quite  ready  for  a  journey  to  Southampton  ?" 

"  Not  quite,"  answered  Rex,  with  his  heart  metaphorically  in 
his  mouth. 

"  Well,  you  can  wait  till  to-morrow,  and  go  to  say  good-bye 
to  them  at  Offendene." 

Mrs.  Gascoigne,  who  now  knew  the  whole  affair,  looked  stead- 
ily at  her  coffee  lest  she  also  should  begin  to  cry,  as  Anna  was 
doing  already. 

Mr.  Gascoigne  felt  that  he  was  applying  a  sharp  remedy  to 
poor  Rex's  acute  attack,  but  he  believed  it  to  be  in  the  end  the 
kindest.  To  let  him  know  the  hopelessness  of  his  love  from 
Gwendolen's  own  lips  might  be  curative  in  more  ways  than 
one. 

"  I  can  only  be  thankful  that  she  doesn't  care  about  him," 
said  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  when  she  joined  her  husband  in  his  study. 
"  There  are  things  in  Gwendolen  I  can  not  reconcile  myself  to. 
My  Anna  is  worth  two  of  her,  with  all  her  beauty  and  talent. 
It  looks  so  very  ill  in  her  that  she  will  not  help  in  the  schools 
with  Anna — not  even  in  the  Sunday-school.  What  you  or  I 
advise  is  of  no  consequence  to  her;  and  poor  Fanny  is  com- 
pletely under  her  thumb.  But  I  know  you  think  better  of 
her,"  Mrs.  Gascoigne  ended,  with  a  deferential  hesitation. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  there  is  no  harm  in  the  girl.  It  is  only  that 
she  has  a  high  spirit,  and  it  will  not  do  to  hold  the  reins  too 
tight.  The  point  is,  to  get  her  well  married.  She  has  a  little 
too  much  fire  in  her  for  her  present  life  with  her  mother  and 
sisters.  It  is  natural  and  right  that  she  should  be  married  soon 
— not  to  a  poor  man,  but  one  who  can  give  her  a  fitting  posi- 
tion." 

Presently  Rex,  with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  was  on  his  two  miles' 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  81 

walk  to  Offendene.  He  was  rather  puzzled  by  the  uncondi- 
tional permission  to  see  Gwendolen,  but  his  father's  real  ground 
of  action  could  not  enter  into  his  conjectures.  If  it  had,  he 
would  first  have  thought  it  horribly  cold-blooded,  and  then 
have  disbelieved  in  his  father's  conclusions. 

^\Tien  he  got  to  the  house,  every  body  was  there  but  Gwen- 
dolen. The  four  girls,  hearing  him  speak  in  the  hall,  rushed 
out  of  the  library,  which  was  their  school-room,  and  hung  round 
him  with  compassionate  inquiries  about  his  arm.  Mrs.  Davi- 
low  wanted  to  know  exactly  what  had  happened,  and  where  the 
blacksmith  lived,  that  she  might  make  him  a  present;  while 
Miss  Merry,  who  took  a  subdued  and  melancholy  part  in  all 
family  affairs,  doubted  whether  it  would  not  be  giving  too 
much  encouragement  to  that  kind  of  character.  Kex  had  nev- 
er found  the  family  troublesome  before,  but  just  now  he  wished 
them  all  away  and  Gwendolen  there,  and  he  was  too  uneasy  for 
good-natured  feigning.  When  at  last  he  had  said,  "  WTiere  is 
Gwendolen  ?"  and  Mrs.  Davilow  had  told  Alice  to  go  and  see  if 
her  sister  were  come  down,  adding,  "I  sent  up  her  breakfast 
this  morning.  She  needed  a  long  rest,"  Rex  took  the  shortest 
way  out  of  his  endurance  by  saying,  almost  impatiently,  "Aunt, 
I  want  to  speak  to  Gwendolen — I  want  to  see  her  alone." 

"Very  well,  dear;  go  into  the  drawing-room.  I  will  send 
her  there,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  who  had  observed  that  he  was 
fond  of  being  with  Gwendolen,  as  was  natural,  but  had  not 
thought  of  this  as  having  any  bearing  on  the  realities  of  life ; 
it  seemed  merely  part  of  the  Christmas  holidays  which  were 
spinning  themselves  out. 

Rex,  for  his  part,  felt  that  the  realities  of  life  were  all  hang- 
ing on  this  intervdew.  He  had  to  walk  up  and  down  the  draw- 
ing-room in  expectation  for  nearly  ten  minutes — ample  space 
for  all  imaginative  fluctuations ;  yet,  strange  to  say,  he  was  un- 
varyingly occupied  in  thinking  what  and  how  much  he  could 
do,  when  Gwendolen  had  accepted  him,  to  satisfy  his  father 
that  the  engagement  was  the  most  prudent  thing  in  the  world, 
sinfle  it  inspired  him  with  double  energy  for  work.  He  was  to 
be  a  lawyer,  and  what  reason  was  there  why  he  should  not  rise 
as  high  as  Eldon  did?  He  was  forced  to  look  at  life  in  the 
light  of  his  father's  mind. 

4* 


82  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

But  when  the  door  opened,  and  she  whose  presence  he  was 
longing  for  entered,  there  came  over  him  suddenly  and  myste- 
riously a  state  of  tremor  and  distrust  which  he  had  never  felt 
before.  Miss  Gwendolen,  simple  as  she  stood  there,  in  her 
black  silk,  cut  square  about  the  round  white  pillar  of  her  throat, 
a  black  band  fastening  her  hair  which  streamed  backward  in 
smooth  silky  abundance,  seemed  more  queenly  than  usual.  Per- 
haps it  was  that  there  was  none  of  the  latent  fun  and  tricksi- 
ness  which  had  always  pierced  in  her  greeting  of  Rex.  How 
much  of  this  was  due  to  her  presentiment,  from  what  he  had 
said  yesterday,  that  he  was  going  to  talk  of  love  ?  How  much 
from  her  desire  to  show  regret  about  his  accident  ?  Something 
of  both.  But  the  wisdom  of  ages  has  hinted  that  there  is  a 
side  of  the  bed  which  has  a  malign  influence  if  you  happen 
to  get  out  on  it ;  and  this  accident  befalls  some  charming  per- 
sons rather  frequently.  Perhaps  it  had  befallen  Gwendolen 
this  morning.  The  hastening  of  her  toilet,  the  way  in  which 
Bugle  used  the  brush,  the  quality  of  the  shilling  serial  mis- 
takenly written  for  her  amusement,  the  probabilities  of  the 
coming  day,  and,  in  short,  social  institutions  generally,  were  all 
objectionable  to  her.  It  was  not  that  she  was  out  of  temper, 
but  that  the  world  was  not  equal  to  the  demands  of  her  fine 
organism. 

However  it  might  be.  Rex  saw  an  awful  majesty  about  her 
as  she  entered  and  put  out  her  hand  to  him,  without  the  least 
approach  to  a  smile  in  eyes  or  mouth.  The  fun  which  had 
moved  her  in  the  evening  had  quite  evaporated  from  tj^e  image 
of  his  accident,  and  the  whole  affair  seemed  stupid  to  her.  But 
she  said,  with  perfect  propriety,  "  I  hope  you  are  not  much  hurt, 
Rex:  I  deserve  that  you  should  reproach  me  i<x  your  acci- 
dent." 

''  Not  at  all,"  said  Rex,  feeling  the  soul  within  him  spreading 
itself  like  an  attack  of  illness.  *'  There  is  hardly  any  thing  the 
matter  with  me.  I  am  so  glad  you  had  the  pleasure :  I  would 
willingly  pay  for  it  by  a  tumble,- only  I  was  sorry  to  break  the 
horse's  knees." 

Gwendolen  walked  to  the  hearth  and  stood  looking  at  the 
fire  in  the  most  inconvenient  way  for  conversation,  so  that  he 
could  only  get  a  side  view  of  her  face. 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  "  83 

"  My  father  wants  me  to  go  to  Southampton  for  the  rest  of 
the  vacation,"  said  Rex,  his  barytone  trembling  a  little. 

"  Southampton !  That's  a  stupid  place  to  go  to,  isn't  it  ?" 
said  Gwendolen,  chilly. 

"  It  would  ^e  to  me,  because  you  would  not  be  there." 

Silence. 

"  Should  you  mind  about  my  going  away,  Gwendolen  ?" 

"Of  course.  Every  one  is  of  consequence  in  this  dreary 
country,"  said  Gwendolen,  curtly.  The  perception  that  poor 
Rex  wanted  to  be  tender  made  her  curl  up  and  harden  like  a 
sea-anemone  at  the  touch  of  a  finger. 

"Are  you  angry  with  me,  Gwendolen?  Why  do  you  treat 
me  in  this  way  all  at  once  ?"  said  Rex,  flushing,  and  with  more 
spirit  in  his  voice,  as  if  he  too  were  capable  of  being  angry. 

Gwendolen  looked  round  at  him,  and  smiled.  "  Treat  you  ? 
Nonsense!  I  am  only  rather  cross.  Why  did  you  come  so 
very  early  ?     You  must  expect  to  find  tempers  in  deshabille." 

"  Be  as  cross  with  me  as  you  like,  only  don't  treat  me  with 
indifference,"  said  Rex,  imploringly.  "All  the  happiness  of  my 
life  depends  on  your  loving  me — if  only  a  little — better  than 
any  one  else." 

He  tried  to  take  her  hand,  but  she  hastily  eluded  his  grasp, 
and  moved  to  the  other  end  of  the  hearth,  facing  him. 

"  Pray  don't  make  love  to  me !  I  hate  it !"  She  looked  at 
him  fiercely. 

Rex  turned  pale  and  was  silent,  but  could  not  take  his  eyes 
off  her,  mid  the  impetus  was  not  yet  exhausted  that  made  hers 
dart  deam  at  him.  Gwendolen  herself  could  not  have  foreseen 
that  she  should  feel  in  this  way.  It  was  all  a  sudden,  new  ex- 
perience to  her.  The  day  before  she  had  been  quite  aware  that 
her  cousin  was  in  love  with  her — she  did  not  mind  how  much, 
so  that  he  said  nothing  about  it ;  and  if  any  one  had  asked  her 
why  she  objected  to  love-making  speeches,  she  would  have  said 
laughingly, "  Oh,  I  am  tired  of  them  all  in  the  books."  But 
now  the  life  of  passion  had  begun  negatively  in  her.  She  felt 
passionately  averse  to  this  volunteered  love. 

To  Rex  at  twenty  the  joy  of  life  seemed  at  an  end  more  ab- 
solutely than  it  can  do  to  a  man  at  forty.  But  before  they  had 
ceased  to  look  at  each  other,  he  did  speak  again. 


84  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"Is  that  the  last  word  you  have  to  say  to  me,  Gwendolen? 
Will  it  always  be  so  ?" 

She  could  not  help  seeing  his  wretchedness,  and  feeling  a  lit- 
tle regret  for  the  old  Rex  who  had  not  offended  her.  Decisive- 
ly, but  yet  with  some  return  of  kindliness,  she  saiS, 

"About  making  love?  Yes.  But  I  don't  dislike  you  for 
any  thing  else." 

There  was  just  a  perceptible  pause  before  he  said  a  low 
"  good-bye,"  and  passed  out  of  the  room.  Almost  immediately 
after,  she  heard  the  heavy  hall-door  bang  behind  him. 

Mrs.  Davilow  too  had  heard  Rex's  hasty  departure,  and  pres- 
ently came  into  the  drawing-room,  where  she  found  Gwendolen 
seated  on  the  low  couch,  her  face  buried,  and  her  hair  falling 
over  her  figure  like  a  garment.  She  was  sobbing  bitterly.  "  My 
child,  my  child !  what  is  it  ?"  cried  the  mother,  who  had  never 
before  seen  her  darling. struck  down  in  this  way,  and  felt  some- 
thing of  the  alarmed  anguish  that  women  feel  at  the  sight  of 
overpowering  sorrow  in  a  strong  man ;  for  this  child  had  been 
her  ruler.  Sitting  down  by  her  with  circling  arms,  she  pressed 
her  cheek  against  Gwendolen's  head,  and  then  tried  to  draw  it 
upward.  Gwendolen  gave  way,  and  letting  her  head  rest  against 
her  mother,  cried  out,  sobbingly,  "  Oh,  mamma,  what  can  be- 
come of  my  life  ?     There  is  nothing  worth  living  for !" 

"  Why,  dear  ?"  said  Mrs.  Davilow.  Usually  she  herself  had 
been  rebuked  by  her  daughter  for  involuntary  signs  of  despair. 

"  I  shall  never  love  any  body.  I  can't  love  people.  I  hate 
them !"  ^ 

"  The  time  will  come,  dear ;  the  time  will  come." 

Gwendolen  was  more  and  more  convulsed  with  sobbing; 
but  putting  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck  with  an  almost 
painful  clinging,  she  said,  brokenly,  "  I  can't  bear  any  one  to  be 
very  near  me  but  you." 

Then  the  mother  began  to  sob,  for  this  spoiled  child  had 
never  shown  such  dependence  on  her  before :  and  so  they  clung 
to  each  other. 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  85 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  What  name  doth  Joy  most  borrow 
When  life  is  fair  ? 

*  To-morrow.' 

"  What  name  doth  best  fit  Sorrow 
In  young  despair  ? 

'  To-morrow.' " 

There  was  a  much  more  lasting  trouble  at  the  rectory. 
Rex  arrived  there  only  to  throw  himself  on  his  bed  in  a  state 
of  apparent  apathy,  unbroken  till  the  next  day,  when  it  began 
to  be  interrupted  by  more  positive  signs  of  illness.  Nothing 
could  be  said  about  his  going  to  Southampton:  instead  of 
that,  the  chief  thought  of  his  mother  and  Anna  was  how  to 
tend  this  patient  who  did  not  want  to  be  well,  and,  from  being 
the  brightest,  most  grateful  spirit  in  the  household,  was  meta- 
morphosed into  an  irresponsive,  dull-eyed  creature  who  met  all 
affectionate  attempts  with  a  murmur  of  "  Let  me  alone."  His 
father  looked  beyond  the  crisis,  and  believed  it  to  be  the  short- 
est way  out  of  an  unlucky  affair ;  but  he  was  sorry  for  the  in- 
evitable suffering,  and  went  now  and  then  to  sit  by  him  in  si- 
lence for  a  few  minutes,  parting  with  a  gentle  pressure  of  his 
hand  on  Rex's  blank  brow,  and  a  "  God  bless  you,  my  boy !" 
"VVarham  and  the  younger  children  used  to  peep  round  the  edge 
of  the  door  to  see  this  incredible  thing  of  their  lively  brother 
being  laid  low ;  but  fingers  were  immediately  shaken  at  them 
to  drive  them  back.  The  guardian  who  was  always  there  was 
Anna,  and  her  little  hand  was  allowed  to-  rest  within  her  broth- 
er's, though  he  never  gave  it  a  welcoming  pressure.  Her  soul 
was  divided  between  anguish  for  Rex  and  reproach  of  Gwen- 
dolen. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  wicked  of  me,  but  I  think  I  never  can  love 
her  again,"  came  as  the  recurrent  burden  of  poor  little  Anna's 
inward  monody.     And  even  Mrs.  Gascoigne  had  an  angry  feel- 


.86  DANIEL    DEHONDA. 

ing  toward  her  niece  which  she  could  not  refrain  from  express- 
ing (apologetically)  to  her  husband. 

"  I  know,  of  course,  it  is  better,  and  we  ought  to  be  thank- 
ful that  she  is  not  in  love  with  the  poor  boy ;  but  really,  Henry, 
I  think  she  is  hard :  she  has  the  heart  of  a  coquette.  I  can 
not  help  thinking  that  she  must  have  made  him  believe  some- 
thing, or  the  disappointment  would  not  have  taken  hold  of  him 
in  that  way.  And  some  blame  attaches  to  poor  Fanny;  she  is 
quite  blind  about  that  girl." 

Mr.  Gascoigne  answered  imperatively :  "  The  less  said  on 
that  point  the  better,  Nancy.  I  ought  to  have  been  more 
awake  myself.  As  to  the  boy,  be  thankful  if  nothing  worse 
ever  happens  to  him.  Let  the  thing  die  out  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible ;  and  especially  with  regard  to  Gwendolen,  let  it  be  as  if 
it  had  never  been." 

The  i?ector's  dominant  feeling  was  that  there  had  been  a 
great  escape.  Gwendolen  in  love  with  Rex  in  return  would 
have  made  a  much  harder  problem,  the  solution  of  which  might 
have  been  taken  out  of  his  hands.  But  he  had  to  go  through 
some  further  difficulty. 

One  fine  morning  Rex  asked  for  his  bath,  and  made  his  toilet 
as  usual.  Anna,  full  of  excitement  at  this  change,  could  do 
nothing  but  listen  for  his  coming-down  ;  and  at  last,  hearing  his 
step,  ran  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  to  meet  him.  For  the  first 
time  he  gave  her  a  faint  smile,  but  it  looked  so  melancholy  on 
his  pale  face  that  she  could  hardly  help  crying. 

"  Nannie !"  he  said,  gently,  taking  her  hand  and  leading  her 
slowly  along  with  him  to  the  drawing-room.  His  mother  was 
there,  and  when  she  came  to  kiss  him,  he  said,  "  What  a  plague 
I  am !" 

Then  he  sat  still  and  looked  out  of  the  bow-window  on  the 
lawn  and  shrubs  covered  with  hoar-frost,  across  which  the  sun 
was  sending  faint  occasional  gleams — something  like  that  sad 
smile  on  Rex's  face,  Anna  thought.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  had 
a  resurrection  into  a  new  world,  and  did  not  know  what  to  do 
with  himself  there,  the  old  interests  being  left  behind.  Anna 
sat  near  him,  pretending  to  work,  but  really  watching  him  with 
yearning  looks.  Beyond  the  garden  hedge  there  was  a  road 
where  wagons  and  carts  sometimes  went  on  field-work :  a  railed 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  87 

opening  was  made  in  the  hedge,  because  the  upland,  with  its 
bordering  wood  and  clump  of  ash-trees  against  the  sky,  was  a 
pretty  sight.  Presently  there  came  along  a  wagon  laden  with 
timber;  the  horses  were  straining  their  grand  muscles,  and  the 
driver,  having  cracked  his  whip,  ran  along  anxiously. to  guide 
the  leader's  head,  fearing  a  swerve.  Rex  seemed  to  be  shaken 
into  attention,  rose  and  looked  till  the  last  quivering  trunk  of 
the  timber  had  disappeared,  and  then  walked  once  or  twice 
along  the  room.  Mrs.  Gascoigne  was  no  longer  there,  and 
when  he  came  to  sit  down  again,  Anna,  seeing  a  return  of 
speech  in  her  brother's  eyes,  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to 
bring  a  little  stool  and  seat  herself  against  his  knees,  looking 
up  at  him  with  an  expression  which  seemed  to  say,  "  Do  speak 
to  me  !"     And  he  spoke. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  am  thinking  of,  Nannie.  I  will  go  to 
Canada,  or  somewhere  of  that  sort."  (Rex  had  not  studied  the 
character  of  our  colonial  possessions.) 

"  Oh,  Rex,  not  for  always  !" 

"  Yes ;  to  get  my  bread  there.  I  should  like  to  build  a  hut, 
and  work  hard  at  clearing,  and  have  every  thing  wild  about 
me,  and  a  great  wide  quiet." 

"And  not  take  me  with  you?"  said  Anna,  the  big  tears  com- 
ing fast. 

"How  could  I?" 

"  I  should  like  it  better  than  any  thing  ;  and  settlers  go  with 
their  families.  I  would  sooner  go  there  than  stay  here  in  En- 
gland. I  could  make  the  fires,  and  mend  the  clothes,  and  cook 
the  food ;  and  I  could  learn  how  to  make  the  bread  before  we 
went.  It  would  be  nicer  than  any  thing — like  playing  at  life 
over  again,  as  we  used  to  do  when  we  made  our  tent  with  the 
drugget,  and  had  our  little  plates  and  dishes." 

"  Father  and  mother  would  not  let  you  go." 

"  Yes,  I  think  they  would,  when  I  explained  every  thing.  It 
would  save  money ;  and  papa  would  have  more  to  bring  up 
the  boys  with." 

There  was  further  talk  of  the  same  practical  kind  at  inter- 
vals, and  it  ended  in  Rex's  being  obliged  to  consent  that  Anna 
should  go  with  him  when  he  spoke  to  his  father  on  the  subject. 

0/  course  it  was  when  the  rector  was  alone  in  his  studv. 


88  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Their  motlier  would  become  reconciled  to  whatever  he  decided 
on ;  but  mentioned  to  her  first,  the  question  would  have  dis- 
tressed her. 

"  Well,  my  children !"  said  Mr.  Gascoigne,  cheerfully,  as  they 
entered.     It  was  a  comfort  to  see  Rex  about  again. 

"  May  we  sit  down  with  you  a  little,  papa  ?"  said  Anna. 
"  Rex  has  something  to  say." 

"With  all  my  heart." 

It  was  a  noticeable  group  that  these  three  creatures  made, 
each  of  them  with  a  face  of  the  same  structural  type — the 
straight  brow,  the  nose  suddenly  straightened  from  an  intention 
of  being  aquiline,  the  short  upper  lip,  the  short  but  strong  and 
well-hung  chin :  there  was  even  the  same  tone  of  complexion 
and  set  of  the  eye.  The  gray-haired  father  was  at  once  mass- 
ive and  keen -looking;  there  was  a  perpendicular  line  in  his 
brow  which,  when  he  spoke  with  any  force  of  interest,  deepen- 
ed ;  and  the  habit  of  ruling  gave  him  an  air  of  reserved  authori- 
tativeness.  Rex  would  have  seemed  a  vision  of  the  father's 
youth,  if  it  had  been  possible  to  imagine  Mr.  Gascoigne  with- 
out distinct  plans  and  without  command,  smitten  with  a  heart- 
sorrow,  and  having  no  more  notion  of  concealment  than  a  sick 
animal ;  and  Anna  was  a  tiny  copy  of  Rex,  with  hair  drajvn 
back  and  knotted,  her  face  following  his  in  its  changes  of  ex- 
pression, as  if  they  had  one  soul  between  them. 

"  You  know  all  about  what  has  upset  me,  father,"  Rex  be- 
gan, and  Mr.  Gascoigne  nodded. 

"  I  am  quite  done  up  for  life  in  this  part  of  the  world.  I 
am  sure  it  will  be  no  use  my  going  back  to  Oxford.  I  couldn't 
do  any  reading.  I  should  fail,  and  cause  you  expense  for  noth- 
ing.    I  want  to  have  your  consent  to  take  another  course,  sir." 

Mr.  Gascoigne  nodded  more  slowly,  the  perpendicular  line  on 
his  brow  deepened,  and  Anna's  trembling  increased. 

"  If  you  would  allow  me  a  small  outfit,  I  should  like  to  go  to 
the  colonies  and  work  on  the  land  there."  Rex  thought  the 
vagueness  of  the  phrase  prudential ;  "  the  colonies  "  necessarily 
embracing  more  advantages,  and  being  less  capable  of  being  re- 
butted on  a  single  ground  than  any  particular  settlement. 

"  Oh,  and  with  me,  papa,"  said  Anna,  not  bearing  to  be  left 
out  from  the  proposal  even  temporarily.     "Rex  would  want 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  89 

some  one  to  take  care  of  him,  you  know — some  one  to  keep 
house.  And  we  shall  never,  either  of  us,  be  married.  And  I 
should  cost  nothing,  and  I  should  be  so  happy.  I  know  it 
would  be  hard  to  leave  you  and  mamma ;  but  there  are  all  the 
others  to  bring  up,  and  we  two  should  be  no  trouble  to  you 
any  more." 

Anna  had  risen  from  her  seat,  and  used  the  feminine  argu- 
ment of  going  closer  to  her  papa  as  she  spoke.  He  did  not 
smile,  but  he  drew  her  on  his  knee  and  held  her  there,  as  if  to 
put  her  gently  out  of  the  question  while  he  spoke  to  Rex. 

"You  will  admit  that  my  experience  gives  me  some  power 
of  judging  for  you,  and  that  I  can  probably  guide  you  in  prac- 
tical matters  better  than  you  can  guide  yourself." 

Rex  was  obliged  to  say,  "  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  perhaps  you  will  admit — though  I  don't  wish  to  press 
that  point — that  you  are  bound  in  duty  to  consider  my  judg- 
ment and  wishes  ?" 

"I  have  never  yet  placed  myself  in  opposition  to  you,  sir." 
Rex  in  his  secret  soul  could  not  feel  that  he  was  bound  not  to 
go  to  the  colonies,  but  to  go  to  Oxford  again  —  which  was  the 
point  in  question. 

"  But  you  will  do  so  if  you  persist  in  setting  your  mind  to- 
ward a  rash  and  foolish  procedure,  and  deafening  yourself  to 
considerations  which  my  experience  of  life  assures  me  of.  You 
think,  I  suppose,  that  you  have  had  a  shock  which  has  changed 
all  your  inclinations,  stupefied  your  brains,  unfitted  you  for  any 
thing  but  manual  labor,  and  given  you  a  dislike  to  society  ?  Is 
that  what  you  believe  ?" 

"  Something  like  that.  I  shall  never  be  up  to  the  sort  of 
work  I  must  do  to  live  in  this  part  of  the  world.  I  have  not 
the  spirit  for  it.  I  shall  never  be  the  same  again.  And  with- 
out any  disrespect  to  you,  father,  I  think  a  young  fellow  should 
bo  allowed  to  choose  his  way  of  life,  if  he  does  nobody  any 
harm.  There  are  plenty  to  stay  at  home,  and  those  who  hke 
might  be  allowed  to  go  where  there  are  empty  places." 

"  But  suppose  I  am  convinced  on  good  evidence — as  I  am — 
that  this  state  of  mind  of  yours  is  transient,  and  that  if  you 
went  ofE  as  you  propose,  you  would  by-and-by  repent,  and  feel 
that  you  had  let  yourself  slip  back  from  the  point  you  have 


90  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

been  gaining  by  your  education  till  now  ?  Have  you  not 
strength  of  mind  enough  to  see  that  you  had  better  act  on  my 
assurance  for  a  time,  and  test  it  ?  In  my  opinion,  so  far  from 
agreeing  with  you  that  you  should  be  free  to  turn  yourself  into 
a  colonist  and  work  in  your  shirt-sleeves  with  spade  and  hatch- 
et— in  my  opinion  you  have  no  right  whatever  to  expatriate 
yourself  until  you  have  honestly  endeavored  to  turn  to  account 
the  education  you  have  received  here.  I  say  nothing  of  the 
grief  to  your  mother  and  me." 

"  I'm  very  sorry ;  but  what  can  I  do  ?  I  can't  study — that's 
certain,"  said  Rex. 

"  Not  just  now,  perhaps.  You  will  have  to  miss  a  term.  I 
have  made  arrangements  for  you — how  you  are  to  spend  the 
next  two  months.  But  I  confess  I  am  disappointed  in  you. 
Rex.  I  thought  you  had  more  sense  than  to  take  up  such 
ideas  —  to  suppose  that  because  you  have  fallen  into  a  very 
common  trouble,  such  as  most  men  have  to  go  through,  you 
are  loosened  from  all  bonds  of  duty — just  as  if  your  brain  had 
softened,  and  you  were  no  longer  a  responsible  being." 

What  could  Rex  say  ?  Inwardly  he  was  in  a  state  of  rebell- 
ion, but  he  had  no  arguments  to  meet  his  father's ;  and  while 
he  was  feeling,  in  spite  of  any  thing  that  might  be  said,  that 
he  should  like  to  go  off  to  "  the  colonies  "  to-morrow,  it  lay  in 
a  deep  fold  of  his  consciousness  that  he  ought  to  feel — if  he 
had  been  a  better  fellow  he  would  have  felt  —  more  about  his 
old  ties.  This  is  the  sort  of  faith  we  live  by  in  our  soul-sick- 
nesses. 

Rex  got  up  from  his  seat,  as  if  he  held  the  conference  to  be 
at  an  end.  "  You  assent  to  my  arrangement,  then  ?"  said  Mr. 
Gascoigne,  with  that  distinct  resolution  of  tone  which  seems  to 
hold  one  in  a  vise. 

There  was  a  little  pause  before  Rex  answered,  "  I'll  try  what 
I  can  do,  sir.  I  can't  promise."  His  thought  was,  that  trying 
would  be  of  no  use. 

Her  father  kept  Anna,  holding  her  fast,  though  she  wanted 
to  follow  Rex.  "  Oh,  papa !"  she  said,  the  tears  coming  with 
her  words  when  the  door  had  closed ;  "  it  is  very  hard  for  him. 
Doesn't  he  look  ill  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  he  will  soon  be  better ;  it  will  all  blow  over.    'And 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  91 

now,  Anna,  be  as  quiet  as  a  mouse  about  it  all.  Never  let  it 
be  mentioned  when  he  is  gone." 

"  No,  papa.  But  I  would  not  be  like  Gwendolen  for  any 
thiiiir  —  to  have  people  fall  in  love  with  me  so.  It  is  very- 
dreadful  !" 

Anna  dared  not  say  that  she  was  disappointed  at  not  being 
allowed  to  go  to  the  colonies  with  Rex ;  but  that  was  her  secret 
feeling,  and  she  often  afterward  went  inwardly  over  the  whole 
affair,  saying  to  herself,  "  I  should  have  done  with  going  out, 
and  gloves,  and  crinoline,  and  having  to  talk  when  I  am  taken 
to  dinner — and  all  that !" 

I  like  to  mark  the  time,  and  connect  the  course  of  individual 
lives  with  the  historic  stream,  for  all  classes  of  thinkers.  This 
was  the  period  when  the  broadening  of  gauge  in  crinolines 
seemed  to  demand  an  agitation  for  the  general  enlargement  of 
churches,  ball-rooms,  and  vehicles.  But  Anna  Gascoigne's  fig- 
ure would  only  allow  the  size  of  skirt  manufactured  for  young 
ladies  of  fourteen. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"I'll  tell  thee,  Berthold,  what  men's  hopes  are  like : 
A  silly  child  that,  quivering  with  joy, 
Would  cast  its  little  mimic  fishing-line 
Baited  with  loadstone  for  a  bowl  of  toys 
In  the  salt  ocean." 

Eight  months  after  the  arrival  of  the  family  at  Offendene — 
that  is  to  say,  in  the  end  of  the  following  June — a  rumor  was 
spread  in  the  neighborhood  which  to  many  persons  w  as  matter 
of  exciting  interest.  It  had  no  reference  to  the  results  of  the 
American  war,  but  it  was  one  which  touched  all  classes  within 
a  certain  circuit  round  Wancester ;  the  corn-factors,  the  brew- 
ers, the  horse-dealers,  and  saddlers,  all  held  it  a  laudable  thing, 
and  one  which  was  to  be  rejoiced  in  on  abstract  grounds,  as 
showing  the  value  of  an  aristocracy  in  a  free  country  like  En- 
gland ;  the  blacksmith  in  the  hamlet  of  Diplow  felt  that  a  good 
time  had  come  round ;  the  wives  of  laboring  men  hoped  their 
nimble  boys  of  ten  or  twelve  would  be  taken  into  employ  by 


92  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

the  gentlemen  in  livery ;  and  the  farmers  about  Diplow  admit- 
ted,  with  a  tincture  of  bitterness  and  reserve,  that  a  man  might 
now  again,  perhaps,  have  an  easier  market  or  exchange  for  a 
rick  of  old  hay  or  a  wagon-load  of  straw.  If  such  were  the 
hopes  of  low  persons  not  in  society,  it  may  be  easily  inferred 
that  their  betters  had  better  reasons  for  satisfaction,  probably 
connected  with  the  pleasures  of  life  rather  than  its  business. 
Marriage,  however,  must  be  considered  as  coming  under  both 
heads ;  and  just  as  when  a  visit  of  majesty  is  announced,  the 
dream  of  knighthood  or  a  baronetcy  is  to  be  found  under  vari- 
ous municipal  night-caps,  so  the  news  in  question  raised  a  float- 
ing, indeterminate  vision  of  marriage  in  several  well-bred  imag- 
inations. 

The  news  was  that  Diplow  Hall,  Sir  Hugo  Mallinger's  place, 
which  had  for  a  couple  of  years  turned  its  white  window-shut- 
ters in  a  painfully  wall-eyed  manner  on  its  fine  elms  and  beech- 
es, its  lilied  pool,  and  grassy  acres  specked  with  deer,  was  being 
prepared  for  a  tenant,  and  was  for  the  rest  of  the  summer,  and 
through  the  hunting  season,  to  be  inhabited  in  a  fitting  style 
both  as  to  house  and  stable.  But  not  by  Sir  Hugo  himself ; 
by  his  nephew,  Mr.  Mallinger  Grandcourt,  who  was  presump- 
tive heir  to  the  baronetcy,  his  uncle's  marriage  having  produced 
nothing  but  girls.  Nor  was  this  the  only  contingency  with 
which  fortune  flattered  young  Grandcourt,  as  he  was  pleasantly 
called ;  for  while  the  chance  of  the  baronetcy  came  through 
his  father,  his  mother  had  given  a  baronial  streak  to  his  blood, 
so  that  if  certain  intervening  persons  slightly  painted  in  the 
middle  distance  died,  he  would  become  a  baron  and  peer  of  this 
realm. 

It  is  the  uneven  allotment  of  nature  that  the  male  bird  alone 
has  the  tuft,  but  we  have  not  yet  followed  the  advice  of  hasty 
philosophers  who  would  have  us  copy  nature  entirely  in  these 
matters ;  and  if  Mr.  Mallinger  Grandcourt  became  a  baronet  or 
a  peer,  his  wife  would  share  the  title  —  which,  in  addition  to 
his  actual  fortune,  was  certainly  a  reason  why  that  wife,  being 
at  present  unchosen,  should  be  thought  of  by  more  than  one 
person  with  sympathetic  interest  as  a  woman  sure  to  be  well 
provided  for. 

Some  readers  of  this  history  will  doubtless  regard  it  as  in- 


ft 

BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  93 

credible  that  people  should  construct  matrimonial  prospects  on 
the  mere  report  that  a  bachelor  of  good  fortune  and  possibili- 
ties was  coming  within  reach,  and  will  reject  the  statement  as 
a  mere  outflow  of  gall ;  they  will  aver  that  neither  they  nor 
their  first  cousins  have  minds  so  unbridled ;  and  that  in  fact 
this  is  not  human  nature,  which  would  know  that  such  specu- 
lations might  turn  out  to  be  fallacious,  and  would  therefore  not 
entertain  them.  But,  let  it  be  observed,  nothing  is  here  nar- 
rated of  human  nature  generally ;  the  history  in  its  present 
stage  concerns  only  a  few^  people  in  a  comer  of  "Wessex ;  whose 
reputation,  however,  was  unimpeached,  and  who,  I  am  in  the 
proud  position  of  being  able  to  state,  were  all  on  visiting  terms 
with  persons  of  rank. 

There  were  the  Arrowpoints,  for  example,  in  their  beautiful 
place  at  Quetcham :  no  one  could  attribute  sordid  views  in  re- 
lation to  their  daughter's  marriage  to  parents  who  could  leave 
her  at  least  half  a  million;  but  having  affectionate  anxieties 
about  their  Catherine's  position  (she  having*  resolutely  refused 
Lord  Slogan,  .an  unexceptionable  Irish  peer,  whose  estate  wanted 
nothing  but  drainage  and  population),  they  wondered,  perhaps 
from  something  more  than  a  charitable  impulse,  whether  Mr. 
Grandcourt  was  good-looking,  of  sound  constitution,  virtuous 
or  at  least  reformed,  and  if  liberal-conservative,  not  too  liberal- 
conservative  ;  and  without  wishing  any  body  to  die,  thought 
his  succession  to  the  title  an  event  to  be  desired. 

If  the  Arrowpoints  had  such  ruminations,  it  is  the  less  sur- 
prising that  they  were  stimulated  in  Mr.  Gascoigne,  who  for  be- 
ing a  clergyman  was  not  the  less  subject  to  the  anxieties  of  a 
parent  and  guardian ;  and  w^e  have  seen  how  both  he  and  Mrs. 
Gascoigne  might  by  this  time  have  come  to  feel  that  he  was 
overcharged  with  the  management  of  young  creatures  who  were 
hardly  to  be  held  in  with  bit  or  bridle,  or  any  sort  of  metaphor 
that  would  stand  for  judicious  advice. 

Naturally,  people  did  not  tell  each  other  all  they  felt  and 
thought  about  young  Grandcourt's  advent :  on  no  subject  is 
this  openness  found  prudentially  practicable — not  even  on  the 
generation  of  acids,  or  the  destination  of  the  fixed  stars;  for 
either  your  contemporary  with  a  mind  turned  toward  the  same 
subjects  may  find  your  ideas  ingenious  and  forestall  you  in  ap- 


94  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

plying  them,  or  he  may  have  other  views  on  acids  and  fixed 
stars,  and  think  ill  of  you  in  consequence.  Mr.  Gascoigne  did 
not  ask  Mr.  Arrowpoint  if  he  had  any  trustworthy  source  of 
r:Jormation  about  Grandcourt  considered  as  a  husband  for  a 
charming  girl ;  nor  did  Mrs.  Arrowpoint  observe  to  Mrs.  Davi- 
low  that  if  the  possible  peer  sought  a  wife  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Diplow,  the  only  reasonable  expectation  was  that  he  would 
offer  his  hand  to  Catherine,  who,  however,  would  not  accept 
him  unless  he  were  in  all  respects  fitted  to  secure  her  happiness. 
Indeed,  even  to  his  wife  the  rector  was  silent  as  to  the  contem- 
plation of  any  matrimonial  result,  from  the  probability  that  Mr. 
Grandcourt  would  see  Gwendolen  at  the  next  archery  meeting ; 
though  Mrs.  Gascoigne's  mind  was  very  likely  still  more  active 
in  the  same  direction.  She  had  said  interjection  ally  to  her  sis- 
ter, "  It  would  be  a  mercy,  Fanny,  if  that  girl  were  well  mar- 
ried !"  to  which  Mrs.  Davilow,  discerning  some  criticism  of  her 
darling  in  the  fervor  of  that  wish,  had  not  chosen  to  make  any 
audible  reply,  thoitgh  she  had  said  inwardly,  "  You  will  not  get 
her  to  marry  for  your  pleasure ;"  the  mild  mother  becoming 
rather  saucy  when  shQ  identified  herself  with  her  daughter. 

To  her  husband  Mrs.  Gascoigne  said,  "  I  hear  Mr.  Grandcourt 
has  two  places  of  his  own,  but  he  comes  to  Diplow  for  the 
hunting.  It  is  to  be  hoped  he  will  set  a  good  example  in  the 
neighborhood.  Have  you  heard  what  sort  of  young  man  he  is, 
Henry?" 

Mr.  Gascoigne  had  not  heard  f  at  least,  if  his  male  acquaint- 
ances had  gossiped  in  his  hearing,  he  was  not  disposed  to  re- 
peat their  gossip,  or  give  it  any  emphasis  in  his  own  mind.  He 
held  it  futile,  even  if  it  had  been  becoming,  to  show  any  curios- 
ity as  to  the  past  of  a  young  man  whose  birth,  wealth,  and  con- 
sequent leisure  made  many  habits  venial  which  under  other  cir- 
cumstances would  have  been  inexcusable.  Whatever  Grand- 
court  had  done,  he  had  not  ruined  himself ;  and  it  is  well 
known  that  in  gambling,  for  example,  whether  of  the  business 
or  holiday  sort,  a  man  who  has  the  strength  of  mind  to  leave 
off  when  he  has  only  ruined  others,  is  a  reformed  character. 
This  is  an  illustration  merely.  Mr.  Gascoigne  had  not  heard 
that  Grandcourt  had  been  a  gambler ;  and  we  can  hardly  pro- 
nounce him  singular  in  feeling  that  a  landed  proprietor  with  a 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  95 

mixture  of  noble  blood  in  bis  veins  was  not  to  be  an  object  of 
suspicious  inquiry,  like  a  reformed  character  who  offers  himself 
as  your  butler  or  footman.  Reformation,  where  a  man  can  af- 
ford to  do  without  it,  can  hardly  be  other  than  genuine.  More- 
over, it  was  not  certain  on  any  shov/ing  hitherto  that  Mr,  Grand- 
court  had  needed  reformation  more  than  other  young  men  in 
the  ripe  youth  of  five-and-thirty ;  and,  at  any  rate,  the  signifi- 
cance of  what  he  had  been  must  be  determined  by  what  he  act- 
ually was. 

Mrs.  Davilow,  too,  although  she  would  not  respond  to  her 
sister's  pregnant  remark,  could  not  be  inwardly  indifferent  to 
an  event  that  might  promise  a  brilliant  lot  for  Gwendolen.  A 
little  speculation  on  "  what  may  be  "  comes  naturally,  without 
encouragement — comes  inevitably  in  the  form  of  images,  when 
unknown  persons  are  mentioned ;  and  Mr.  Grandcourt's  name 
raised  in  Mrs.  Davilow's  mind  first  of  all  the  picture  of  a  liand- 
some,  accomplished,  excellent  young  man  whom  she  would  be 
satisfied  with  as  a  husband  for  her  daughter ;  but  then  came 
the  further  speculation  —  would  Gwendolen  be  satisfied  with 
him  ?  There  was  no  knowing  what  would  meet  that  girl's  taste 
or  touch  her  affections — it  might  be  something  else  than  excel- 
lence ;  and  thus  the  image  of  the  perfect  suitor  gave  way  be- 
fore a  fluctuating  combination  of  qualities  that  might  be  imag- 
ined to  win  Gwendolen's  heart.  In  the  difficulty  of  arriving  at 
the  particular  combination  which  would  insure  that  result,  the 
mother  even  said  to  herself,  "  It  would  not  signify  about  her 
being  in  love,  if  she  would  only  accept  the  right  person."  For 
whatever  marriage  had  been  for  herself,  how  could  she  the  less 
desire  it  for  her  daughter  ?  The  difference  ber  own  misfortunes 
made  was,  that  she  never  dared  to  dwell  much  to  Gwendolen 
on  the  desirableness  of  marriage,  dreading  an  answer  something 
like  that  of  the  future  Madame  Roland,  when  her  gentle  moth- 
er, urging  the  acceptance  of  a  suitor,  said,  "Tu  seras  heureuse^ 
ma  chere."     "  Oui,  maman,  comme  toi." 

In  relation  to  the  problematic  Mr.  Grandcourt,  least  of  all 
would  Mrs.  Davilow  have  willingly  let  fall  a  hint  of  the  aerial 
castle-building  which  she  had  the  good  taste  to  be  ashamed  of ; 
for  such  a  hint  was  likely  enough  to  give  an  adverse  poise  to 
Gwendolen's  own  thought,  and  make  her  detest  the  desirable 


96  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

husband  beforehand.  Since  that  scene  after  poor  Rex's  fare* 
well  visit,  the  mother  had  felt  a  new  sense  of  peril  in  touching 
the  mystery  of  her  child's  feeling,  and  in  rashly  determining 
what  was  her  welfare :  only  she  could  think  of  welfare  in  no 
other  shape  than  marriage. 

The  discussion  of  the  dress  that  Gwendolen  was  to  wear  at 
the  archery  meeting  was  a  relevant  topic,  however ;  and  when 
it  had  been  decided  that  as  a  touch  of  color  on  her  white  cash- 
mere, nothing,  for  her  complexion,  was  comparable  to  pale 
green — a  feather  which  she  was  trying  in  her  hat  before  the 
looking-glass  having  settled  the  question  —  Mrs.  Davilow  felt 
her  ears  tingle  when  Gwendolen,  suddenly  throwing  herself 
into  the  attitude  of  drawing  her  bow,  said,  Avith  a  look  of  comic 
enjoyment, 

"  How  I  pity  all  the  other  girls  at  the  archery  meeting — all 
thinking  of  Mr.  Grandcourt !  And  they  have  not  a  shadow  of 
a  chance." 

Mrs.  Davilow  had  not  presence  of  mind  to  answer  immedi- 
ately, and  Gwendolen  turned  quickly  round  toward  her,  saying, 
wickedly, 

"  Now,  you  know  they  have  not,  mamma.  You  and  my  un- 
cle and  aunt — you  all  intend  him  to  fall  in  love  with  me." 

Mrs.  Davilow,  piqued  into  a  little  stratagem,  said,  "  Oh,  my 
dear,  that  is  not  so  certain.  Miss  Arrowpoint  has  charms 
which  you  have  not." 

"  I  know.  But  they  demand  thought.  My  arrow  will  pierce 
him  before  he  has  time  for  thought.  He  will  declare  himself 
my  slave — I  shall  send  him  round  the  world  to  bring  me  back 
the  wedding-ring  of  a  happy  woman — in  the  mean  time  all  the 
men  who  are  between  him  and  the  title  will  die  of  different 
diseases  —  he  will  come  back  Lord  Grandcourt  —  but  without 
the  ring — and  fall  at  my  feet.  I  shall  laugh  at  him — he  will 
rise  in  resentment — I  shall  laugh  more — he  will  call  for  his 
steed  and  ride  to  Quetcham,  where  he  will  find  Miss  Arrowpoint 
just  married  to  a  needy  musician,  Mrs.  Arrowpoint  tearing  her 
cap  off,  and  Mr.  Arrowpoint  standing  by.  Exit  Lord  Grand- 
court,  who  returns  to  Diplow,  and,  like  M.  Jabot,  change  de 
lingey 

Was  ever  any  young  witch  like  this  ?     You  thought  of  hid- 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  97 

ing  tilings  from  her — sat  upon  your  secret  and  looked  innocent, 
and  all  the  while  she  knew  by  the  comer  of  your  eye  that  it 
was  exactly  five  pounds  ten  you  were  sitting  on  !  As  well  turn 
the  key  to  keep  out  the  damp !  It  was  probable  that  by  dint 
of  divination  she  already  knew  more  than  any  one  else  did  of 
Mr.  Grandcourt.  That  idea  in  Mrs.  Davilow's  mind  prompted 
the  sort  of  question  which  often  comes  without  any  other  ap- 
parent reason  than  the  faculty  of  speech  and  the  not  knowing 
what  to  do  with  it. 

"  Why,  what  kind  of  man  do  you  imagine  him  to  be,  Gwen- 
dolen?" 

"  Let  me  see !"  said  the  witch,  putting  her  forefinger  to  her 
lips  with  a  little  frown,  and  then  stretching  out  the  finger  with 
decision.  "  Short — just  above  my  shoulder — trying  to  make 
himself  tall  by  turning  up  his  mustache  and  keeping  his  beard 
long — a  glass  in  his  right  eye  to  give  him  an  air  of  distinction 
— a  strong  opinion  about  his  waistcoat,  but  uncertain  and  trim- 
ming about  the  weather,  on  which  he  w^ill  try  to  draw  me  out. 
He  will  stare  at  me  all  the  while,  and  the  glass  in  his  eye  will 
cause  him  to  make  horrible  faces,  especially  when  he  smiles  in  a 
flattering  way.  I  shall  cast  down  my  eyes  in  consequence,  and 
he  will  perceive  that  I  am  not  indifferent  to  his  attentions.  I 
shall  dream  that  night  that  I  am  looking  at  the  extraordinary 
face  of  a  magnified  insect,  and  the  next  morning  he  will  make 
me  an  offer  of  his  hand ;  the  sequel  as  before." 

"  This  is  a  portrait  of  some  one  you  have  seen  already,  Gwen. 
Mr.  Grandcourt  may  be  a  delightful  young  man,  for  what  you 
know." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Gwendolen,  with  a  high  note  of  careless  ad- 
mission, taking  off  her  best  hat  and  turning  it  round  on  her 
hand  contemplatively.  "  I  wonder  what  sort  of  behavior  a  de- 
lightful young  man  would  have  ?"  Then,  with  a  merry  change 
of  face,  "  I  know  he  would  have  hunters  and  racers,  and  a  Lon- 
don house  and  two  country-houses — one  with  battlements  and 
another  with  a  veranda.  And  I  feel  sure  that  with  a  little  mur- 
dering he  might  get  a  title." 

The  irony  of  this  speech  was  of  the  doubtful  sort  that  has 
some  genuine  belief  mixed  up  with  it.  Poor  Mrs.  Davilow  felt 
uncomfortable  under  it,  her  own  meanings  being  usually  liter- 

VoL.  L— 5 


98  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

al,  and  in  intention  innocent ;  and  she  said,  with  a  distressed 
brow, 

"  Don't  talk  in  that  way,  child,  for  Heaven's  sake !  You  do 
read  such  books — they  give  you  such  ideas  of  every  thing.  I 
declare  when  your  aunt  and  I  were  your  age  we  knew  nothing 
about  wickedness.     I  think  it  was  better  so." 

"  Why  did  you  not  bring  me  up  in  that  way,  mamma?"  said 
Gwendolen.  But  immediately  perceiving  in  the  crushed  look 
and  rising  sob  that  she  had  given  a  deep  wound,  she  tossed 
down  her  hat  and  knelt  at  her  mother's  feet,  crying, 

"  Mamma,  mamma  !  I  was  only  speaking  in  fun.  I  meant 
nothing." 

"  How  could  I,  Gwendolen  ?"  said  poor  Mrs.  Davilow,  unable 
to  hear  the  retractation,  and  sobbing  violently  while  she  made 
the  effort  to  speak.  "  Your  will  was  always  too  strong  for  me 
— if  every  thing  else  had  been  different." 

This  disjointed  logic  was  intelligible  enough  to  the  daughter. 
"  Dear  manmia,  I  don't  find  fault  with  you — I  love  you,"  said 
Gwendolen,  really  compunctious.  "  How  can  you  help  what 
I  am?  Besides,  I  am  very  charming.  Come,  now."  Here 
Gwendolen,  with  her  handkerchief,  gently  rubbed  away  her 
mother's  tears.  "  Really — I  am  contented  with  myself.  I  like 
myself  better  than  I  should  have  liked  my  aunt  and  you.  How 
dreadfully  dull  you  must  have  been  !" 

Such  tender  cajolery  served  to  quiet  the  mother,  as  it  had 
often  done  before  after  like  collisions.  Not  that  the  collisions 
had  often  been  repeated  at  the  same  point ;  for  in  the  memory 
of  both  they  left  an  association  of  dread  with  the  particular 
topics  which  had  occasioned  them  :  Gwendolen  dreaded  the  un- 
pleasant sense  of  compunction  toward  her  mother,  which  was 
the  nearest  approach  to  self-condemnation  and  self -distrust  that 
she  had  known  ;  and  Mrs.  Davilow' s  timid  maternal  conscience 
dreaded  whatever  had  brought  on  the  slightest  hint  of  re- 
proach. Hence,  after  this  little  scene,  the  two  concun'ed  in  ex- 
cluding Mr.  Grandcourt  from  their  conversation. 

When  Mr.  Gascoigne  once  or  twice  referred  to  him,  Mrs. 
Davilow  feared  lest  Gwendolen  should  betray  some  of  her 
alarming  keen-sightedness  about  what  was  probably  in  her  un- 
cle's mind ;  but  the  fear  was  not  justified.     Gwendolen  knew 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  09 

certain  differences  in  the  characters  with  which  she  was  con- 
cerned, as  birds  know  cUmate  and  weather ;  and,  for  the  very 
reason  that  she  was  determined  to  evade  lier  uncle's  control, 
she  was  determined  not  to  clash  wuth  him.  The  good  under- 
standing between  them  was  much  fostered  by  their  enjoyment 
of  archery  together :  Mr.  Gascoigne,  as  one  of  the  best  bowmen 
in  Wessex,  was  gratified  to  find  the  elements  of  like  skill  in  his 
niece ;  and  Gwendolen  was  the  more  careful  not  to  lose  the 
shelter  of  his  fatherly  indulgence,  because  since  the  trouble 
with  Rex  both  Mrs.  Gascoigne  and  Anna  had  been  unable  to 
hide  what  she  felt  to  be  a  very  unreasonable  alienation  from 
her.  Toward  Anna  she  took  some  pains  to  behave  with  a  re- 
gretful affectionateness  ;  but  neither  of  them  dared  to  mention 
Rex's  name,  and  Anna,  to  whom  the  thought  of  him  was  part 
of  the  air  she  breathed,  was  ill  at  ease  with  the  lively  cousin 
who  had  ruined  his  happiness.  She  tried  dutifully  to  repress 
any  sign  of  hor  changed  feeling ;  but  who  in  pain  can  imitate 
the  glance  and  hand-touch  of  pleasure  ? 

This  unfair  resentment  had  rather  ^  hardening  effect  on 
Gwendolen,  and  threw  her  into  a  more  defiant  temper.  Her 
uncle,  too,  might  be  offended  if  she  refused  the  next  person 
who  fell  in  love  with  her ;  and  one  day  when  that  idea  was  in 
her  mind  she  said, 

"  Manima,  I  see  now  why  girls  are  glad  to  be  married — to 
escape  being  expected  to  please  every  body  but  themselves." 

Happily,  Mr.  Middleton  w^as  gone  without  having  made  any 
avowal ;  and  notwithstanding  the  admiration  for  the  handsome 
Miss  Harleth,  extending  perhaps  over  thirty  square  miles  in  a 
part  of  Wessex  well  studded  with  families  whose  members  in- 
cluded several  disengaged  young  men,  each  glad  to  seat  him- 
self by  the  lively  girl  with  whom  it  was  so  easy  to  get  on  in 
conversation — notwithstanding  these  grounds  for  arguing  that 
Gwendolen  was  likely  to  have  other  suitors  more  explicit  than 
the  cautious  curate,  the  fact  was  not  so. 

Care  has  been  taken  not  only  that  the  trees  should  not  sweep 
the  stars  down,  but  also  that  every  man  who  admires  a  fair  girl 
should  not  be  enamored  of  her,  and  even  that  every  man  who 
is  enamored  should  not  necessarily  declare  himself.  There  are 
various  refined  shapes  in  which  the  price  of  corn,  known  to  be 


100  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

a  potent  cause  in  this  relation,  might,  if  inquired  into,  show 
why  a  young  lady,  perfect  in  person,  accomplishments,  and  cos- 
tume, has  not  the  trouble  of  rejecting  many  offers ;  and  Nat- 
ure's order  is  certainly  benignant  in  not  obliging  us,  one  and 
all,  to  be  desperately  in  love  with  the  most  admirable  mortal 
we  have  ever  seen.  Gwendolen,  we  know,  was  far  from  hold- 
ing that  supremacy  in  the  minds  of  all  observers.  Besides,  it 
was  but  a  poor  eight  months  since  she  had  come  to  Offendene, 
and  some  inclinations  become  manifest  slowly,  like  the  sunward 
creeping  of  plants. 

In  face  of  this  fact  that  not  one  of  the  eligible  young  men  al- 
ready in  the  neighborhood  had  made  Gwendolen  an  offer,  why 
should  Mr.  Grandcourt  be  thought  of  as  likely  to  do  what  they 
had  left  undone  ? 

Perhaps  because  he  was  thought  of  as  still  more  eligible; 
since  a'  great  deal  of  what  passes  for  likelihood  in  the  world  is 
simply  the  reflex  of  a  wish.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  for  ex- 
ample, having  no  anxiety  that  Miss  Harleth  should  make  a  brill- 
iant marriage,  had  quite  a  different  likelihood  in  their  minds. 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  101 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  1st  Gent.  What  woman  should  be  ?     Sir,  consult  the  taste 
Of  marriageable  men.     This  planet's  store 
In  iron,  cotton,  wool,  or  chemicals — 
All  matter  rendered  to  our  plastic  skill — 
Is  wrought  in  shapes  responsive  to  demand  : 
The  market's  pulse  makes  in(Jex  high  or  low. 
By  rule  sublime.     Our  daughters  must  be  wives, 
And  to  be  wives  must  be  what  men  will  choose : 
Men's  taste  is  woman's  test.     You  mark  the  phrase  ? 
'Tis  good,  I  think  ? — the  sense  well  winged  and  poised 
With  t's  and  s's. 

"  2c?  Gent.  Nay,  but  turn  it  round : 

Give  us  the  test  of  taste.     A  fine  menu — • 
Is  it  to-day  what  Roman  epicures 
Insisted  that  a  gentleman  must  eat 
To  earn  the  dignity  of  dining  well?" 

Brackenshaw  Park,  where  the  archery  meeting  was  held, 
looked  out  from  its  gentle  heights  far  over  the  neighboring 
valley  to  the  outlying  eastern  downs,  and  the  broad  slow  rise 
of  cultivated  country  hanging  like  a  vast  curtain  toward  the 
west.  The  castle,  which  stood  on  the  highest  platform  of  the 
clustered  hills,  was  built  of  rough-hewn  limestone,  full  of  lights 
and  shadows  made  by  the  dark  dust  of  lichens  and  the  wash- 
ings of  the  rain.  Masses  of  beech  and  fir  sheltered  it  on  the 
north,  and  spread  down  here  and  there  along  the  green  slopes 
like  flocks  seeking  the  water  which  gleamed  below.  The  arch- 
ery-ground was  a  carefully  kept  inclosure  on  a  bit  of  table-land 
at  the  farthest  end  of  the  park,  protected  toward  the  south- 
west by  tall  elms  and  a  thick  screen  of  hollies,  which  kept  the 
gravel-walk,  and  the  bit  of  newly  mown  turf  where  the  targets 
were  placed  in  agreeable  afternoon  shade.  The  archery  hall, 
with  an  arcade  in  front,  showed  like  a  white  temple  against  the 
greenery  on  the  northern  side. 

What  could  make  a  better  background  for  the  flower-groups 
of  ladies,  moving  and  bowing,  and  turning  their  necks  as  it 


102  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

would  become  the  leisurely  lilies  to  do  if  they  took  to  locomo- 
tion ?  The  sounds,  too,  were  very  pleasant  to  hear,  even  when 
the  military  band  from  Wancester  ceased  to  play :  musical 
laughs  in  all  the  registers,  and  a  harmony  of  happy  friendly 
speeches,  now  rising  toward  mild  excitement,  now  sinking  to 
an  agreeable  murmur. 

No  open-air  amusement  could  be  much  freer  from  those 
noisy,  crowding  conditions  which  spoil  most  modern  pleasures ; 
no  archery  meeting  could  be  more  select,  the  number  of  friends 
accompanying  the  members  being  restricted  by  an  award  of 
tickets,  so  as  to  keep  the  maximum  within  the  limits  of  conven- 
ience for  the  dinner  and  ball  to  be  held  in  the  castle.  Within 
the  inclosure  no  plebeian  spectators  were  admitted  except  Lord 
Brackenshaw's  tenants  and  their  families,  and  of  these  it  was 
chiefly  the  feminine  members  who  used  the  privilege,  bringing 
their  little  boys  and  girls  or  younger  brothers  and  sisters.  The 
males  among  them  relieved  the  insipidity  of  the  entertainment 
by  imaginative  betting,  in  which  the  stake  was  "  any  thing  you 
like,"  on  their  favorite  archers  ;  but  the  young  maidens,  having 
a  different  principle  of  discrimination,  were  considering  which 
of  those  sweetly  dressed  ladies  they  would  choose  to  be,  if  the 
choice  were  allowed  them.  Probably  the  form  these  rural  souls 
would  most  have  striven  for  as  a  tabernacle  was  some  other 
than  Gwendolen's — one  with  more  pink  in  her  cheeks,  and  hair 
of  the  most  fashionable  yellow ;  but  among  the  male  judges  in 
the  ranks  immediately  surrounding  her  there  was  unusual  una- 
nimity in  pronouncing  her  the  finest  girl  present. 

No  wonder  she  enjoyed  her  existence  on  that  July  day.  Pre- 
eminence is  sweet  to  those  who  love  it,  even  under  mediocre 
circumstances:  perhaps  it  is  not  quite  mythical  that  a  slave 
has  been  proud  to  be  bought  first ;  and  probably  a  barn-door 
fowl  on  sale,  though  he  may  not  have  understood  himself  to  be 
called  the  best  of  a  bad  lot,  may  have  a  self-informed  conscious- 
ness of  his  relative  importance,  and  strut  consoled.  But  for 
complete  enjoyment  the  outward  and  the  inward  must  concur. 
And  that  concurrence  was  happening  to  Gwendolen. 

Who  can  deny  that  bows  and  arrows  are  among  the  pret- 
tiest weapons  in  the  world  for  feminine  forms  to  play  with? 
They  prompt  attitudes  full  of  grace  and  power,  where  that  fine 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD  103 

concentration  of  energy  seen  in  all  marksmanship  is  freed  from 
associations  of  bloodshed.  The  time-honored  British  resource 
of  "  killing  something "  is  no  longer  carried  on  with  bow  and 
quiver;  bands  defending  their  passes  against  an  invading  na- 
tion fight  under  another  sort  of  shade  than  a  cloud  of  arrows ; 
and  poisoned  darts  are  harmless  survivals  either  in  rhetoric  or 
in  regions  comfortably  remote.  Archery  has  no  ugly  smell  of 
brimstone ;  breaks  nobody's  shins,  breed-s  no  athletic  monsters ; 
its  only  danger  is  that  of  failing,  which  for  generous  blood  is 
enough  to  mold  skillful  action.  And  among  the  Brackenshaw 
archers  the  prizes  were  all  of  the  nobler  symbolic  kind:  not 
property  to  be  carried  otiE  in  a  parcel,  degrading  honor  into 
gain ;  but  the  gold  arrow  and  the  silver,  the  gold  star  and  the 
silver,  to  be  worn  for  a  time  in  sign  of  achievement,  and  then 
transferred  to  the  next  who  did  excellently.  These  signs  of  pre- 
eminence had  the  virtue  of  Avreaths  without  their  inconven- 
iences, which  might  have  produced  a  melanchoy  effect  in  the 
heat  of  the  ball-room.  Altogether  the  Brackenshaw  Archery 
Club  was  an  institution  framed  with  good  taste,  so  as  not  to 
have  by  necessity  any  ridiculous  incidents. 

And  to-day  al\  incalculable  elements  were  in  its  favor.  There 
was  mild  warmth,  and  no  wind  to  disturb  either  hair  or  drapery 
or  the  course  of  the  arrow ;  all  skillful  preparation  had  fair 
play,  and  when  there  w' as  a  general  march  to  extract  the  arrows, 
the  promenade  of  joyous  young  creatures  in  light  speech  and 
laughter,  the  graceful  movement  in  common  toward  a  common 
object,  was  a  show  worth  looking  at.  Here  Gwendolen  seemed 
a  Calypso  among  her  nymphs.  It  was  in  her  attitudes  and 
movements  that  every  one  was  obliged  to  admit  her  surpassing 
charm. 

"  That  girl  is  like  a  high-mettled  racer,"  said  Lord  Bracken- 
shaw to  young  Clintock,  one  of  the  invited  spectators. 

"  First  chop !  tremendously  pretty  too,"  said  the  elegant 
Grecian,  who  had  been  paying  her  assiduous  attention  ;  "  I  nev- 
er saw  her  look  better." 

Perhaps  she  had  never  looked  so  well.  Her  face  was  beam- 
ing with  young  pleasure  in  which  there  were  no  malign  rays 
of  discontent ;  for,  being  satisfied  with  her  own  chances,  she 
felt  kindly  toward  every  body,  and  was  satisfied  with  the  uni- 


104  ■       DANIEL    DERONDA. 

verse.  Not  to  have  the  highest  distinction  in  rank,  not  to  be 
marked  out  as  an  heiress,  like  Miss  Arrowpoint,  gave  an  added 
triumph  in  eclipsing  those  advantages.  For  personal  recom- 
mendation she  would  not  have  cared  to  change  the  family 
group  accompanying  her  for  any  other :  her  mamma's  appear- 
ance would  have  suited  an  amiable  duchess ;  her  uncle  and  aunt 
Gascoigne,  with  Anna,  made  equally  gratifying  figures  in  their 
way ;  and  Gwendolen  was  too  full  of  joyous  belief  in  herself  to 
feel  in  the  least  jealous,  though  Miss  Arrowpoint  was  one  of 
the  best  archeresses. 

Even  the  re  -  appearance  of  the  formidable  Herr  Klesmer, 
which  caused  some  surprise  in  the  rest  of  the  company,  seemed 
only  to  fall  in  with  Gwendolen's  inclination  to  be  amused. 
Short  of  Apollo  himself,  what  great  musical  maestro  could 
make  a  good  figure  at  an  archery  meeting  ?  There  was  a  very 
satirical  light  in  Gwendolen's  eyes  as  she  looked  toward  the 
Arrowpoint  party  on  their  first  entrance,  when  the  contrast  be- 
tween Klesmer  and  the  average  group  of  English  county  people 
seemed  at  its  utmost  intensity  in  the  close  neighborhood  of  his 
hosts — or  patrons,  as  Mrs.  Arrowpoint  would  have  liked  to  hear 
them  called,  that  she  might  deny  the  possibility  of  any  longer 
patronizing  genius,  its  royalty  being  universally  acknowledged. 
The  contrast  might  have  amused  a  graver  personage  than  Gwen- 
dolen. We  English  are  a  miscellaneous  people,  and  any  chance 
fifty  of  us  will  present  many  varieties  of  animal  architecture  or 
facial  ornament ;  but  it  must  be  admitted  that  our  prevailing 
expression  is  not  that  of  a  lively,  impassioned  race,  preoccupied 
with  the  ideal  and  carrying  the  real  as  a  mere  make- weight. 
The  strong  point  of  the  English  gentleman  pure  is  the  easy 
style  of  his  figure  and  clothing ;  he  objects  to  marked  ins  and 
outs  in  his  costume,  and  he  also  objects  to  looking  inspired. 

Fancy  an  assemblage  where  the  men  had  all  that  ordinary 
stamp  of  the  well-bred  Englishman  watching  the  entrance  of 
Herr  Klesmer — his  mane  of  hair  floatino-  backward  in  massive 
inconsistency  with  the  chimney-pot  hat,  which  had  the  look  of 
having  been  put  on  for  a  joke  above  his  pronounced  but  well- 
modeled  features  and  powerful,  clean-shaven  mouth  and  chin  ; 
his  tall  thin  figure  clad  in  a  way  which,  not  being  strictly  En- 
glish, was  all  the  worse  for  its  apparent  emphasis  of  intention. 


UOOK  1. THE  SPOILED  CHILD.  105 

Draped  in  a  loose  garment  with  a  Florentine  berretta  on  his 
head,  he  would  have  been  fit  to  stand  by  the  side  of  Leonardo 
da  Vinci;  but  how  when  he  presented  himself  in  trowsers 
which  were  not  what  English  feeling  demanded  about  the 
knees  ? — and  when  the  fire  that  showed  itself  in  his  glances  and 
the  movements  of  his  head,  as  he  looked  round  him  with  curi- 
osity, was  turned  into  comedy  by  a  hat  which  ruled  that  man- 
kind should  have  well-cropped  hair  and  a  staid  demeanor,  such, 
for  example,  as  Mr.  Arrowpoint's,  whose  nullity  jof  face  and  per- 
fect tailoring  might  pass  everywhere  without  ridicule?  One 
sees  why  it  is  often  better  for  greatness  to  be  dead,  and  to  have 
got  rid  of  the  outward  man. 

Many  present  knew  Kllesmer,  or  knew  of  him  ;  but  they  had 
only  seen  him  on  candle-light  occasions  w^hen  he  appeared  sim- 
ply as  a  musician,  and  he  had  not  yet  that  supreme,  world-wide 
celebrity  which  makes  an  artist  great  to  the  most  ordinary  peo- 
ple by  their  knowledge  of  his  great  expensiveness.  It  was  lit- 
erally a  new  light  for  them  to  see  him  in — presented  unexpect- 
edly on  this  July  afternoon  in  an  exclusive  society :  some  were  in- 
clined to  laugh,  others  felt  a  little  disgust  at  the  want  of  judgment 
shown  by  the  Arrowpoints  in  this  use  of  an  introductory  card. 

"  What  extreme  guys  those  artistic  fellows  usually  are !"  said 
young  Clintock  to  Gwendolen.  "  Do  look  at  the  figure  he  cuts, 
bowing  with  his  hand  on  his  heart  to  Lady  Brackenshaw — and 
Mrs.  Arro^\^oint's  feather  just  reaching  his  shoulder." 

"  You  are  one  of  the  profane,"  said  Gwendolen.  "  You  are 
blind  to  the  majesty  of  genius.  Herr  Klesmer  smites  me  with 
awe ;  I  feel  crushed  in  his  presence :  my  courage  all  oozes  from 
me." 

"  Ah,  you  understand  all  about  his  music." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Gwendolen,  with  a  light  laugh ;  "  it  is  he 
who  understands  all  about  mine  and  thinks  it  pitiable."  Kles- 
mer's  verdict  on  her  singing  had  been  an  easier  joke  to  her 
since  he  had  been  struck  by  her  plastik. 

•'  It  is  not  addressed  to  the  ears  of  the  future,  I  suppose. 
I'm  glad  of  that :  it  suits  mine." 

"  Oh,  you  are  very  kind.  But  how  remarkably  well  Miss  Ar- 
rowpoint  looks  to-day  !  She  would  make  quite  a  fine  picture 
in  that  gold-colored. dress." 

5* 


106  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  Too  splendid,  don't  you  think  ?" 

"  Well,  perhaps  a  little  too  symbolical — too  much  like  the 
figure  of  Wealth  in  an  allegory." 

This  speech  of  Gwendolen's  had  rather  a  malicious  sound, 
but  it  was  not  really  more  than  a  bubble  of  fun.  She  did  not 
wish  Miss  Arrowpoint  or  any  one  else  to  be  out  of  the  way, 
believing  in  her  own  good  fortune  even  more  than  in  her  skill. 
The  belief  in  both  naturally  grew  stronger  as  the  shooting  went 
on,  for  she  promised  to  achieve  one  of  the  best  scores — a 
success  which  astonished  every  one  in  a  new  member;  and 
to  Gwendolen's  temperament  one  success  determined  another. 
She  trod  on  air,  and  all  things  pleasant  seemed  possible.  The 
hour  was  enough  for  her,  and  she  was  not  obliged  to  think 
what  she  should  do  next  to  keep  her  life  at  the  due  pitch. 

"  How  does  the  scoring  stand,  I  wonder  ?"  said  Lady  Brack- 
enshaw,  a  gracious  personage  who,  adorned  with  two  fair  little 
girls  and  a  boy  of  stout  make,  sat  as  lady  paramount.  Her 
lord  had  come  up  to  her  in  one  of  the  intervals  of  shooting. 
"  It  seems  to  me  that  Miss  Harleth  is  likely  to  win  the  gold 
arrow." 

"  Gad,  I  think  she  will,  if  she  carries  it  on !  She  is  running 
Juliet  Fenn  hard.  It  is  wonderful  for  one  in  her  first  year. 
Catherine  is  not  up  to  her  usual  mark,"  continued  his  lordship, 
turning  to  the  heiress's  mother,  who  sat  near.  "  But  she  got  the 
gold  arrow  last  time.  And  there's  a  luck  even  in  these  games 
of  skill.     That's  better.     It  gives  the  hinder  ones  a  chance." 

"  Catherine  will  be  very  glad  for  others  to  win,"  said  Mrs. 
Arrowpoint,  "  she  is  so  magnanimous.  It  was  entirely  her  con- 
siderateness  that  made  us  bring  Herr  Klesmer  instead  of  Canon 
Stopley,  who  had  expressed  a  wish  to  come.  For  her  own 
pleasure,  I  am  sure  she  would  rather  have  brought  the  canon ; 
but  she  is  always  thinking  of  others.  I  told  her  it  was  not 
quite  en  regie  to  bring  one  so  far  out  of  our  own  set ;  but  she 
said,  *  Genius  itself  is  not  en  regie;  it  comes  into  the  world  to 
make  new  rules.'     And  one  must  admit  that." 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure,"  said  Lord  Brackenshaw,  in  a  tone  of  care- 
less dismissal,  adding  quickly,  "  For  my  part,  I  am  not  magnan- 
imous ;  I  should  like  to  win.  But,  confound  it !  I  never  have 
the  chance  now.     I'm  getting  old  and  idle.     The  young  ones 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  107 

beat  me.  As  old  Nestor  says — the  gods  don't  give  us  every 
thing  at  one  time :  I  was  a  young  fellow  once,  and  now  I  am 
getting  an  old  and  wise  one.  Old,  at  any  rate ;  which  is  a  gift 
that  comes  to  every  body  if  they  live  long  enough,  so  it  raises 
no  jealousy."     The  earl  smiled  comfortably  at  his  wife. 

''  Oh,  my  lord,  people  who  have  been  neighbors  twenty  years 
must  not  talk  to  each  other  about  age,"  said  Mrs.  Arrowpoint. 
"  Years,  as  the  Tuscans  say,  are  made  for  the  letting  of  houses. 
But  where  is  our  new  neighbor  ?  I  thought  Mr.  Grandcourt 
was  to  be  here  to-day." 

"Ah,  by-the-way,  so  he 'was.  The  time's  getting  on  too," 
said  liis  lordship,  looking  at  his  watch.  "  But  he  only  got  to 
Diplow  the  other  day.  He  came  to  us  on  Tuesday  and  said 
he  had  been  a  little  bothered.  He  may  have  been  pulled  in 
another  direction.  Why,  Gascoigne  !"  —  the  rector  was  just 
then  crossing  at  a  little  distance  with  Gwendolen  on  his  arm, 
and  turned  in  compliance  with  the  call — "  this  is  a  little  too 
bad;  you  not  only  beat  us  yourself,  but  you  bring  up  your 
niece  to  beat  all  the  archeresses." 

"It  is  rather  scandalous  in  her  to  get  the  better  of  elder 
members,"  said  Mr.  Gascoigne,  with  much  inward  satisfaction 
curling  his  short  upper  lip.  "But  it  is  not  my  doing,  my 
lore*.  I  only  meant  her  to  make  a  tolerable  figure,  without  sur- 
passing any  one." 

"  It  is  not  my  fault  either,"  said  Gwendolen,  with  pretty 
archness.     "  If  I  am  to  aim,  I  can't  help  hitting." 

"  Ay,  ay,  that  may  be  a  fatal  business  for  some  people,"  said 
Lord  Brackenshaw,  good-humoredly ;  then,  taking  out  his  watch 
and  looking  at  Mrs.  ArroAvpoint  again — "  The  time's  getting 
on,  as  you  say.  But  Grandcourt  is  always  late.  I  notice  in 
town  he's  always  late,  and  he's  no  bowman — understands  noth- 
ing about  it.  But  I  told  him  he  must  come ;  he  would  see  the 
flower  of  the  neighborhood  here.  He  asked  about  you  ^  had 
seen  Arrowpoint's  card.  I  think  you  had  not  made  his  ac- 
quaintance in  town.  He  has  been  a  ^ood  deal  abroad.  People 
don't  know  him  much." 

"  No ;  we  are  strangers,"  said  Mrs.  Arrowpoint.  "  But  that 
is  not  what  might  have  been  expected.  For  his  uncle,  Sir  Hugo 
Mallinger,  and  I  are  great  friends  when  we  meet." 


108  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  I  don't  know ;  uncles  and  nephews  are  not  so  likely  to  be 
seen  together  as  uncles  and  nieces,"  said  his  lordship,  smiling 
toward  the  rector.  "  But  just  come  with  me  one  instant,  Gas- 
coigne,  will  you?  I  want  to  speak  a  word  about  the  clout- 
shooting." 

Gwendolen  chose  to  go  too,  and  be  deposited  in  the  same 
group  with  her  mamma  and  aunt  until  she  had  to  shoot  again. 
That  Mr.  Grandcourt  might,  after  all,  not  appear  on  the  arch- 
ery-ground had  begun  to  enter  into  Gwendolen's  thought  as  a 
possible  deduction  from  the  completeness  of  her  pleasure.  Un- 
der all  her  saucy  satire,  provoked  chiefly  by  her  divination  that 
her  friends  thought  of  him  as  a  desirable  match  for  her,  she 
felt  something  very  far  from  indifference  as  to  the  impression 
she  would  make  on  him.  True,  he  was  not  to  have  the  slight- 
est power  over  her  (for  Gwendolen  had  not  considered  that  the 
desire  to  conquer  is  itself  a  sort  of  subjection) ;  she  had  made 
up  her  mind  that  he  was  to  be  one  of  those  complimentary  and 
assiduously  admiring  men  of  whom  even  her  narrow  experience 
had  shown  her  several,  with  various- colored  beards  and  various 
styles  of  bearing ;  and  the  sense  that  her  friends  would  want 
her  to  think  him  delightful  gave  her  a  resistant  inclination  to 
presuppose  him  ridiculous.  But  that  was  no  reason  why  she 
could  spare  his  presence :  and  even  a  passing  prevision  of  trou- 
ble, in  case  she  despised  and  refused  him,  raised  not  the  shadow 
of  a  wish  that  he  should  save  her  that  trouble  by  showing  no 
disposition  to  make  her  an  offer.  Mr.  Grandcourt  taking  hard- 
ly any  notice  of  her,  and  becoming  shortly  engaged  to  Miss 
Arrowpoint,  was  not  a  picture  which  flattered  her  imagina- 
tion. 

Hence  Gwendolen  had  been  all  ear  to  Lord  Brackenshaw's 
mode  of  accounting  for  Grandcourt's  non  -  appearance ; .  and 
when  he  did  amve,  no  consciousness  —  not  even  Mrs.  Arrow- 
point's  or  Mr.  Gascoigne's — was  more  awake  to  the  fact  than 
hers,  although  she  steadily  avoided  looking  toward  any  point 
where  he  was  likely  to  be.  There  should  be  no  slightest  shift- 
ing of  angles  to  betray  that  it  was  of  any  consequence  to  her 
whether  the  much-talked-of  Mr.  Mallinger  Grandcourt  present- 
ed himself  or  not.  She  became  again  absorbed  in  the  shoot- 
ing, and  so  resolutely  abstained  from  looking  round  observantly 


BOOK    I. THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  109 

that,  even  supposing  liim  to  have  taken  a  conspicuous  place 
lamong  the  spectators,  it  might  be  clear  she  was  not  aware  of 
him.  And  all  the  while  the  certainty  that  he  was  there  made 
a  distinct  thread  in  her  consciousness.  Perhaps  her  shooting 
was  the  better  for  it ;  at  any  rate,  it  gained  in  precision,  and 
she  at  last  raised  a  delightful  storm  of  clapping  and  applause 
by  three  hits  running  in  the  gold  —  a  feat  which  among  the 
Brackenshaw  archers  had  not  the  vulgar  reward  of  a  shilling 
poll-tax,  but  that  of  a  special  gold  star  to  be  worn  on  the 
breast.  That  moment  was  not  only  a  happy  one  to  herself — 
if  was  just  what  her  mamma  and  her  uncle  would  have  chosen 
for  her.  There  was  a  general  falling  into  ranks  to  give  her 
space  that  she  might  advance  conspicuously  to  receive  the  gold 
star  from  the  hands  of  Lady  Brackenshaw,  and  the  perfect 
movement  of  her  fine  form  was  certainly  a  pleasant  thing  to 
behold  in  the  clear  afternoon  light,  when  the  shadows  were 
long  and  still.  She  was  the  central  object  of  that  pretty  pict- 
ure, and  every  one  present  must  gaze  at  her.  That  was  enough ; 
she  herself  was  determined  to  see  nobody  in  particular,  or  to 
turn  her  eyes  any  way  except  toward  Lady  Brackenshaw,  but 
her  thoughts  undeniably  turned  in  other  ways.  It  entered  a 
little  into  her  pleasure  that  Herr  Klesmer  must  be  observing 
her  at  a  moment  when  music  was  out  of  the  question,  and  his 
superiority  very  far  in  the  background ;  for  vanity  is  as  ill  at 
ease  under  indifference  as  tenderness  is  under  a  love  which  it 
can  not  return  ;  and  the  unconquered  Klesmer  threw  a  trace  of 
his  malign  power  even  across  her  pleasant  consciousness  that 
Mr.  Grandcourt  was  seeing  her  to  the  utmost  advantage,  and 
was  probably  giving  her  an  admiration  unmixed  with  criticism. 
She  did  not  expect  to  admire  him,  but  that  was  not  necessary 
to  her  peace  of  mind. 

Gwendolen  met  Lady  Brackenshaw's  gracious  smile  without 
blushing  (which  only  came  to  her  when  she  was  taken  by  sur- 
prise), but  with  a  charming  gladness  of  expression,  and  then 
bent  with  easy  grace  to  have  the  star  fixed  near  her  shoulder. 
That  little  ceremony  had  been  over  long  enough  for  her  to  have 
exchanged  playful  speeches  and  received  congratulations  as  she 
moved  among  the  groups  who  were  now  interesting  themselves 
in  the  results  of  the  scoring;  but  it  happened  that  she  stood 


110  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

outside  examining  the  point  of  an  arrow  with  rather  an  absent 
air,  when  Lord  Brackenshaw  came  up  to  her,  and  said, 

"  Miss  Harleth,  here  is  a  gentleman  who  is  not  willing  to 
wait  any  longer  for  an  introduction.  He  has  been  getting  Mrs. 
Davilow  to  send  me  with  him.  Will  you  allow  me  to  intro- 
duce Mr.  Mallinger  Grandcourt  ?" 


BOOK    II. 
MEETING  STREAMS. 


BOOK  II. 

MEETING  STREAMS. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


"  The  beginning  of  an  acquaintance,  whether  with  persons  or  things,  is 
to  get  a  definite  outline  for  our  ignorance." 

Mr.  Grandcourt's  wish  to  be  introduced  had  no  suddenness 
for  Gwendolen ;  but  when  Lord  Brackenshaw  moved  aside  a 
little  for  the  prefigured  stranger  to  come  forw^ard,  and  she  felt 
herself  face  to  face  with  the  real  man,  there  was  a  little  shock 
which  flushed  her  cheeks  and  vexatiously  deepened  with  her 
consciousness  of  it.  The  shock  came  from  the  reversal  of  her 
expectations :  Grandcourt  could  hardly  have  been  more  unlike 
all  her  imaginary  portraits  of  him.  He  was  slightly  taller  than 
herself,  and  their  eyes  seemed  to  be  on  a  level ;  there  was  not 
the  faintest  smile  on  his  face  as  he  looked  at  her,  not  a  trace  of 
self-consciousness  or  anxiety  in  his  bearing.  When  he  raised 
his  hat  he  showed  an  extensive  baldness,  surrounded  with  a 
mere  fringe  of  reddish  blonde  hair,  but  he  also  showed  a  perfect 
hand.  The  line  of  feature  from  brow  to  chin  undisguised  by 
beard  was  decidedly  handsome,  with  only  moderate  departures 
from  the  perpendicular,  and  the  slight  whisker,  too,  was  perpen- 
dicular. It  w^as  not  possible  for  a  human  aspect  to  be  freer 
from  grimace  or  solicitous  wrigglings  ;  also,  it  was  perhaps  not 
possible  for  a  breathing  man  wide  awake  to  look  less  animated. 
The  coiTect  Englishman,  drawing  himself  up  from  his  bow  into 
rigidity,  assenting  severely,  and  seeming  to  be  in  a  state  of  in- 
ternal drill,  suggests  a  suppressed  vivacity,  and  may  be  suspect- 
ed of  letting  go  with  some  violence  when  he  is  released  from 


114  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

parade ;  but  Grandcourt's  bearing  had  no  rigidity :  it  inclined 
rather  to  the  flaccid.  His  complexion  had  a  faded  fairness  re- 
sembling that  of  an  actress  when  bare  of  the  artificial  white 
and  red  ;  his  long,  narrow,  gray  eyes  expressed  nothing  but  in- 
difference. Attempts  at  description  are  stupid :  who  can  all  at 
once  describe  a  human  being  ?  Even  when  he  is  presented  to 
us  we  only  begin  that  knowledge  of  his  appearance  which  must 
be  completed  by  innumerable  impressions  under  differing  cir- 
cumstances. We  recognize  the  alphabet ;  we  are  not  sure  of 
the  language.  I  am  only  mentioning  the  points  that  Gwendo- 
len saw  by  the  light  of  a  prepared  contrast  in  the  first  minutes 
of  her  meeting  with  Grandcourt :  they  were  summed  up  in  the 
words,  "  He  is  not  ridiculous."  But  forthwith  Lord  Bracken- 
shaw  was  gone,  and  what  is  called  conversation  had  begun,  the 
first  and  constant  element  in  it  being  that  Grandcourt  looked  at 
Gwendolen  persistently  with  a  slightly  exploring  gaze,  but  with- 
out change  of  expression,  while  she  only  occasionally  looked  at 
him  with  a  flash  of  observation  a  little  softened  by  coquetry. 
Also,  after  her  answ^ers  there  was  a  longer  or  shorter  pause  be- 
fore he  spoke  again. 

"  I  used  to  think  archery  was  a  great  bore,"  Grandcourt  be- 
gan. He  spoke  with  a  fine  accent,  but  with  a  certain  broken 
drawl,  as  of  a  distinguished  personage  with  a  distinguished  cold 
on  his  chest. 

"  Are  you  converted  to-day  ?"  said  Gwendolen. 

(Pause,  during  which  she  imagined  various  degrees  and 
modes  of  opinion  about  herself  that  might  be  entertained  by 
Grandcourt.) 

"  Yes,  since  I  saw  you  shooting.  In  things  of  this  sort  one 
generally  sees  people  missing  and  simpering." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  a  first-rate  shot  with  a  rifle." 

(Pause,  during  which  Gwendolen,  having  taken  a  rapid  ob- 
servation of  Grandcourt,  made  a  brief  graphic  description  of 
him  to  an  indefinite  hearer.) 

"  I  have  left  off  shooting." 

"Oh,  then,  you  are  a  formidable  person.  People  who  have 
done  things  once  and  left  them  off  ma,ke  one  feel  very  con- 
temptible, as  if  one  were  using  cast-off  fashions.  I  hope  you 
have  not  left  off  all  follies,  because  I  practice  a  great  many." 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  115 

(Pause,  during  which  Gwendolen  made  several  interpretations 
of  her  own  speech.) 

"  What  do  you  call  follies  ?" 

"  Well,  in  general,  I  think  whatever  is  agi'eeable  is  called  a 
folly.     But  you  have  not  left  off  hunting,  I  hear." 

(Pause,  wherein  Gwendolen  recalled  what  she  had  heard 
about  Grandcourt's  position,  and  decided  that  he  was  the  most 
aristocratic-looking  man  she  had  ever  seen.) 

"  One  must  do  something." 

"  And  do  you  care  about  the  turf  ? — or  is  that  among  the 
things  you  have  left  off?" 

(Pause,  during  which  Gwendolen  thought  that  a  man  of  ex- 
tremely calm,  cold  manners  might  be  less  disagreeable  as  a  hus- 
band than  other  men,  and  not  likely  to  interfere  with  his  wife's 
preferences.) 

"  I  run  a  horse  now  and  then ;  but  I  don't  o-o  in  for  the 
thing  as  some  men  do.     Are  you  fond  of  horses  ?" 

*'  Yes,  indeed  ;  I  never  like  my  life  so  well  as  when  I  am  on 
horseback,  having  a  great  gallop.  I  think  of  nothing.  I  only 
feel  myself  strong  and  happy." 

(Pause,  wherein  Gwendolen  wondered  whether  Grandcourt 
would  like  what  she  said,  but  assured  herself  that  she  was  not 
going  to  disguise  her  tastes.) 

"  Do  you  like  danger  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  When  I  am  on  horseback  I  never  think  of 
danger.  It  seems  to  me  that  if  I  broke  my  bones  I  should  not 
feel  it.     I  should  go  at  any  thing  that  came  in  my  w^ay." 

(Pause,  during  which  Gwendolen  had  run  through  a  whole 
hunting  season  with  two  chosen  hunters  to  ride  at  will.) 

"You  w^ould  perhaps  like  tiger-hunting  or  pig-sticking.  I 
saw  some  of  that  for  a  season  or  two  in  the  East.  Every  thing 
here  is  poor  stuff  after  that." 

"Fb?f  are  fond  of  danger,  then  ?" 

(Pause,  wherein  Gwendolen  speculated  on  the  probability 
that  the  men  of  coldest  manners  were  the  most  adventurous, 
and  felt  the  strenglh  of  her  own  insight,  supposing  the  ques- 
tion had  to  be  decided.) 

"  One  must  have  something  or  other.  But  one  gets  used 
to  it." 


116  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  I  begin  to  think  I  am  very  fortunate,  because  every  thing 
is  new  to  me :  it  is  only  that  I  can't  get  enough  of  it.  I  am 
not  used  to  any  thing  except  being  dull,  which  I  should  like  to 
leave  off  as  you  have  left  off  shooting." 

(Pause,  during  which  it  occurred  to  Gwendolen  that  a  man 
of  cold  and  distinguished  manners  might  possibly  be  a  dull 
companion ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  she  thought  that  most  per- 
sons were  dull,  that  she  had  not  observed  husbands  to  be  com- 
panions— and  that,  after  all,  she  was  not  going  to  accept  Grand- 
court.) 

"Why  are  you  dull?" 

"  This  is  a  dreadful  neighborhood.  There  is  nothing  to  be 
done  in  it.     That  is  why  I  practiced  my  archery." 

(Pause,  during  which  Gwendolen  reflected  that  the  life  of  an 
unmarried  woman  who  could  not  go  about,  and  had  no  com- 
mand of  any  thing,  must  necessarily  be  dull  through  all  the  de- 
grees of  comparison  as  time  went  on.) 

"  You  have  made  yourself  queen  of  it.  I  imagine  you  will 
carry  off  the  first  prize." 

"  I  don't  know  that.  I  have  great  rivals.  Did  you  not  ob- 
serve how  well  Miss  Arrowpoint  shot  ?" 

(Pause,  wherein  Gwendolen  was  thinking  that  men  had  been 
known  to  choose  some  one  else  than  the  woman  they  most  ad- 
mired, and  recalled  several  experiences  of  that  kind  in  novels.) 

"  Miss  Arrowpoint  ?     No — that  is,  yes." 

"  Shall  we  go  now  and  hear  what  the  scoring  says  ?  Every 
one  is  going  to  the  other  end  now  —  shall  we  join  them?  I 
think  my  uncle  is  looking  toward  me.    He  perhaps  wants  me." 

Gwendolen  found  a  relief  for  herself  by  thus  changing  the 
situation ;  not  that  the  tete-a-tete  was  quite  disagreeable  to  her ; 
but  while  it  lasted  she  apparently  could  not  get  rid  of  the  un- 
wonted flush  in  her  cheeks,  and  the  sense  of  surprise  which 
made  her  feel  less  mistress  of  herself  than  usual.  And  this  Mr. 
Grandcourt,  who  seemed  to  feel  his  own  importance  more  than 
he  did  hers — a  sort  of  unreasonableness  few  of  us  can  tolerate 
— must  not  take  for  granted  that  he  was  of  great  moment  to 
her,  or  that  because  others  speculated  on  him  as  a  desirable 
match  she  held  herself  altogether  at  his  beck.  How  Grand- 
court  had  filled  up  the  pauses  will  be  more  evident  hereafter. 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  117 

"  You  have  just  missed  the  gold  arrow,  Gwendolen,"  said  Mr. 
Gascoigne.     "  Miss  Juliet  Fenn  scores  eight  above  you." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it.  I  should  have  felt  that  I  was 
making  myself  too  disagreeable — taking  the  best  of  everything," 
said  Gwendolen,  quite  easily. 

It  was  impossible  to  be  jealous  of  Juliet  Fenn,  a  girl  as  mid- 
dling as  midday  market  in  every  thing  but  her  archery  and  her 
plainness,  in  which  last  she  was  noticeably  like  her  father — un- 
derhung, and  with  receding  brow  resembling  that  of  the  more 
intelligent  fishes.  (Surely,  considering  the  importance  which 
is  given  to  such  an  accident  in  female  offspring,  marriageable 
men,  or  what  the  new  English  calls  "  intending  bridegrooms," 
should  look  at  themselves  dispassionately  in  the  glass,  since 
their  natural  selection  of  a  mate  prettier  than  themselves  is  not 
certain  to  bar  the  effect  of  their  own  ugliness.) 

There  was  now  a  lively  movement  in  the  mingling  groups, 
which  carried  the  talk  along  with  it.  Every  one  spoke  to  ev- 
ery one  else  by  turns,  and  Gwendolen,  who  chose  to  see  what 
was  going  on  around  her  now,  observed  that  Grandcourt  was 
ha\nng  Klesmer  presented  to  him  by  some  one  unknown  to  her 
— a  middle-aged  man  with  dark  full  face  and  fat  hands,  who 
seemed  to  be  on  the  easiest  terms  with  both,  and  presently  led 
the  way  in  joining  the  Arrowpoints,  whose  acquaintance  had 
already  been  made  by  both  him  and  Grandcourt.  Who  this' 
stranger  was  she  did  not  care  much  to  know ;  but  she  wished 
to  observe  what  was  Grandcourt's  manner  toward  others  than 
herself.  Precisely  the  same  ;  except  that  he  did  not  look  much 
at  Miss  Arrowpoint,  but  rather  at  Klesmer,  who  was  speaking 
with  animation — now  stretching  out  his  long  fingers  horizon- 
tally, now  pointing  downward  with  his  forefinger,  now  folding 
his  arms  and  tossing  his  mane,  while  he  addressed  himself  first 
to  one  and  then  the  other,  including  Grandcourt,  who  listened 
with  an  impassive  face  and  narrow  eyes,  his  left  forefinger  in 
his  waistcoat-pocket,  and  his  right  slightly  touching  his  thin 
whisker. 

"  I  wonder  which  style  Miss  Arrowpoint  admires  most,"  was 
a  thought  that  glanced  through  Gwendolen's  mind  while  her 
eyes  and  lips  gathered  ratl;^er  a  mocking  expression.  But  she 
would  not  indulge  her  sense  of  amusement  bv  watchino-  as  if 


118  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

she  were  curious,  and  she  gave  all  her  animation  to  those  im- 
mediately around  her,  determined  not  to  care  whether  Mr. 
Grandcourt  came  near  her  again  or  not. 

He  did  come,  however,  and  at  a  moment  when  he  could  pro- 
pose to  conduct  Mrs.  Davilow  to  her  carriage.  "  Shall  we  meet 
again  in  the  ball-room  ?"  she  said,  as  he  raised  his  hat  at  part- 
ing. The  "  yes  "  in  reply  had  the  usual  slight  drawl  and  per- 
fect gravity. 

"  You  were  wrong  for  once,  Gwendolen,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow, 
during  their  few  minutes'  drive  to  the  castle. 

"  In  what,  mamma  ?" 

"About  Mr.  Grandcourt's  appearance  and  manners.  You 
can't  find  any  thing  ridiculous  in  him." 

"  I  suppose  I  could  if  I  tried,  but  I  don't  want  to  do  it,"  said 
Gwendolen,  rather  pettishly ;  and  her  mamma  was  afraid  to  say 
more. 

It  was  the  rule  on  these  occasions  for  the  ladies  and  gentle- 
men to  dine  apart,  so  that  the  dinner  might  make  a  time  of 
comparative  ease  and  rest  for  both.  Indeed,  the  gentlemen  had 
a  set  of  archery  stories  about  the  epicurism  of  the  ladies,  who 
had  somehow  been  reported  to  show  a  revoltingly  masculine 
judgment  in  venison,  even  asking  for  the  fat  —  a  proof  of  the 
frightful  rate  at  which  corruption  might  go  on  in  women,  but 
*for  severe  social  restraint.  And  every  year  the  amiable  Lord 
Brackenshaw,  who  was  something  of  a  gourmet,  mentioned  By- 
ron's opinion  that  a  woman  should  never  be  seen  eating,  intro- 
ducing it  with  a  confidential  —  "  The  fact  is  "  —  as  if  he  were 
for  the  first  time  admitting  his  concurrence  in  that  sentiment  of 
the  refined  poet. 

In  the  ladies'  dining-room  it  was  evident  that  Gwendolen 
was  not  a  general  favorite  with  her  own  sex  ;  there  were  no  be- 
ginnings of  intimacy  between  her  and  other  girls,  and  in  con- 
versation they  rather  noticed  what  she  said  than  spoke  to  her 
in  free  exchange.  Perhaps  it  was  that  she  was  not  much  inter- 
ested in  them,  and  when  left  alone  in  their  company  had  a  sense 
of  empty  benches.  Mrs.  Vulcany  once  remarked  that  Miss  Har- 
leth  was  too  fond  of  the  gentlemen ;  but  we  know  that  she  was 
not  in  the  least  fond  of  them ;  she  was  only  fond  of  their  hom- 
age, and  women  did  not  give  her  homage.     The  exception  to 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  119 

this  willing  aloofness  from  her  was  Miss  Arrowpoint,  who  often' 
managed  unostentatiously  to  be  by  her  side,  and  talked  to  her 
with  quiet  friendliness. 

"  She  knows,  as  I  do,  that  our  friends  are  ready  to  quarrel 
over  a  husband  for  us,"  thought  Gwendolen,  "  and  she  is  deter- 
mined not  to  enter  into  the  quarrel." 

"  1  think  Miss  Arrowpoint  has  the  best  manners  I  ever  saw," 
said  Mrs.  Davilow,  when  she  and  Gwendolen  were  in  a  dressingr^ 
room  with  Mrs.  Gascoigne  and  Anna,  but  at  a  distance  where 
they  could  have  their  talk  apart. 

"  I  wish  I  were  like  her,"  said  Gw^endolen. 

"  Why  ?    Are  you  getting  discontented  with  yourself,  Gwen  ?" 

"  No ;  but  I  am  discontented  with  things.  She  seems  con- 
tented." 

"  I  am  sure  you  ought  to  be  satisfied  to-day.  You  must  have 
enjoyed  the  shooting.     I  saw  you  did." 

"  Oh,  that  is  over  now,  and  I  don't  know  what  will  come 
next,"  said  Gwendolen,  stretching  herself  with  a  sort  of  moan 
and  throwing  up  her  arms.  They  were  bare  now :  it  was  the 
fashion  to  dance  in  the  archery  dress,  throwing  off  the  jacket ; 
and  the  simplicity  of  her  white  cashmere  with  its  border  of 
pale  green  set  off  her  form  to  the  utmost.  A  thin  line  of  gold 
round  her  neck,  and  the  gold  star  on  her  breast,  were  her  only 
ornaments.  Her  smooth  soft  hair  piled  up  into  a  grand  crown 
maide  a  clear  line  about  her  brow.  Sir  Joshua  would  have  been 
glad  to  take  her  portrait ;  and  he  would  have  had  an  easier  task 
than  the  historian  at  least  in  this,  that  he  would  not  have  had 
to  represent  the  truth  of  change — only  to  give  stability  to  one 
beautiful  moment. 

"  The  dancing  will  come  next,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow.  "  You 
are  su^e  to  enjoy  that." 

"  I  shall  only  dance  in  the  quadrille.  I  told  Mr.  Clintock  so. 
I  shall  not  waltz  or  polk  with  any  one." 

"  AMiy  in  the  world  do  you  say  that,  all  on  a  sudden  ?" 

"  I  can't  bear  having  ugly  people  so  near  me." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  by  ugly  people  ?" 

"Oh,  plenty." 

"Mr.  Clintock,  for  example,  is  not  ugly."  Mrs.  Davilow 
dared  not  mention  Grandcourt. 


120  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  Well,  I  hate  woolen  cloth  touching  me." 

"  Fancy !"  said  Mrs.  Davilow  to  her  sister,  who-  now  came  up 
from  the  other  end  of  the  room.  "  Gwendolen  says  she  will 
not  waltz  or  polk." 

"  She  is  rather  given  to  whims,  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Gascoigne, 
gravely.  "It  would  be  more  becoming  in  her  to  behave  as 
other  young  ladies  do  on  such  an  occasion  as  this,  especially 
when  she  has  had  the  advantage  of  first-rate  dancing  lessons." 

"  Why  should  I  waltz  if  I  don't  like  it,  aunt  ?  It  is-  not  in 
the  Catechism." 

"  My  dear  P''  said  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  in  a  tone  of  severe  check, 
and  Anna  looked  frightened  at  Gwendolen's  daring.  But  they 
all  passed  on  without  saying  more. 

Apparently  something  had  changed  Gwendolen's  mood  since 
the  hour  of  exulting  enjoyment  in  the  archery-ground.  But 
she  did  not  look  the  worse  under  the  chandeliers  in  the  ball- 
room, where  the  soft  splendor  of  the  scene  and  the  pleasant 
odors  from  the  conservatory  could  not  but  be  soothing  to  the 
temper,  when  accompanied  with  the  consciousness  of  being  pre- 
eminently sought  for.  Hardly  a  dancing  man  but  was  anxious 
to  have  her  for  a  partner,  and  each  whom  she  accepted  was  in 
a  state  of  melancholy  remonstrance  that  she  would  not  waltz 
or  polk. 

"Are  you  under  a  vow,  Miss  Harleth?" — "Why  are  you  so 
cruel  to  us  all  ?" — "  You  waltzed  with  me  in  February  " — "  And 
you  who  waltz  so  perfectly !" — were  exclamations  not  without 
piquancy  for  her.  The  ladies  who  waltzed  naturally  thought 
that  Miss  Harleth  only  wanted  to  make  herself  particular ;  but  her 
uncle,  when  he  overheard  her  refusal,  supported  her  by  saying, 

"Gwendolen  has  usually  good  reasons."  He  thought  she 
was  certainly  more  distinguished  in  not  waltzing,  and  he  ifished 
her  to  be  distinguished.  The  archery  ball  was  intended  to  be 
kept  at  the  subdued  pitch  that  suited  all  dignities,  clerical  and 
secular:  it  was  not  an  escapement  for  youthful  high  spirits, 
and  he  himself  was  of  opinion  that  the  fashionable  dances  were 
too  much  of  a  romp. 

Among  the  remonstrant  dancing  men,  however,  Mr.  Grand- 
court  was  not  numbered.  After  standing  up  for  a  quadrille 
with  Miss  Arrowpoint,  it  seemed  that  he  meant  to  ask  for  no 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  121 

Other  partner.  Gwendolen  observed  him  frequently  with  the 
Arrowpoints,  but  he  never  took  an  opportunity  of  approaching 
her.  Mr.  Gascoigne  was  sometimes  speaking  to  him ;  but  Mr. 
Gascoigne  was  everywhere.  It  was  in  her  mind  now  that  she 
would  probably,  after  all,  not  have  the  least  trouble  about  him : 
perhaps  he  had  looked  at  her  without  any  particular  admiration, 
and  was  too  much  used  to  every  thing  in  the  world,  to  think 
of  her  as  more  than  one  of  the  girls  who  were  invited  in  that 
part  of  the  country.  Of  course !  It  was  ridiculous  of  elders 
to  entertain  notions  about  what  a  man  would  do,  without  hav- 
ing seen  him  even  through  a  telescope.  Probably  he  meant  to 
marry  Miss  Arrowpoint.  Whatever  might  come,  she,  Gwendo- 
len, was  not  going  to  be  disappointed :  the  affair  w^as  a  joke 
whichever  way  it  turned,  for  she  had  never  committed  herself 
even  by  a  silent  confidence  in  any  thing  Mr.  Grandcourt  would 
do.  Still,  she  noticed  that  he  did  sometimes  quietly  and  grad- 
ually change  his  position  according  to  hers,  so  that  he  could  see 
her  whenever  she  was  dancing,  and  if  he  did  not  admire  her — 
so  much  the  worse  for  him. 

This  movement  for  the  sake  of  being  in  sight  of  her  was 
more  direct  than  usual  rather  late  in  the  evening,  when  Gw^en- 
dolen  had  accepted  Klesmer  as  a  partner ;  and  that  wide-glan- 
cing personage,  who  saw  every  thing  and  nothing  by  turns,  said 
to  her  when  they  were  w^alking,  "  Mr.  Grandcourt  is  a  man  of 
taste.     He  likes  to  see  you  dancing." 

"  Perhaps  he  likes  to  look  at  what  is  against  his  taste,"  said 
Gwendolen,  with  a  light  laugh :  she  was  quite  courageous  with 
Klesmer  now.  "  He  may  be  so  tired  of  admiring  that  he  likes 
disgust  for  a  variety." 

"Those  w^ords  are  not  suitable  to  your  lips,"  said  Klesmer, 
quickly,  with  one  of  his  grand  frowns,  while  he  shook  his  hand 
as  if  to  banish  the  discordant  sounds. 

"  Are  you  as  critical  of  words  as  of  music  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  am.  I  should  require  your  words  to  be  what 
your  face  and  form  are — always  among  the  meanings  of  a  no- 
ble music." 

"  That  is  a  compliment  as  well  as  a  correction.  I  am  obliged 
for  both.  But  do  you  knbw  I  am  bold  enough  to  wish  to  cor- 
rect yoM,  and  require  you  to  understand  a  joke  ?" 

Vol.  I.— 6 


122  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  One  may  understand  jokes  without  liking  them,"  said  the 
terrible  Klesmer.  "I  have  had  opera -books  sent  me  full  of 
jokes ;  it  was  just  because  I  understood  them  that  I  did  not 
like  them.  The  comic  people  are  ready  to  challenge  a  man  be- 
cause he  looks  grave.  '  You  don't  see  the  witticism,  sir  f  '  No, 
sir,  but  I  see  what  you  meant.'  Then  I  am  what  we  call  tick- 
eted as  a  fellow  without  esprit.  But  in  fact,"  said  Klesmer, 
suddenly  dropping  from  his  quick  narrative  to  a  reflective  tone, 
with  an  impressive  frown,  "  I  am  very  sensible  to  wit  and  hu- 
mor." 

"  I  am  glad  you  tell  me  that,"  said  Gwendolen,  not  without 
some  wickedness  of  intention.  But  Klesmer's  thoughts  had 
flown  off  on  the  wings  of  his  own  statement,  as  their  habit  was, 
and  she  had  the  wickedness  all  to  herself.  "  Pray,  who  is  that 
standing  near  the  card-room  door  ?"  she  went  on,  seeing  there 
the  same  stranger  with  whom  Klesmer  had  been  in  animated 
talk  on  the  archery-ground.     "  He  is  a  friend  of  yours,  I  think." 

"  No,  no  ;  an  amateur  I  have  seen  in  town :  Lush,  a  Mr. 
Lush — too  fond  of  Meyerbeer  and  Scribe — too  fond  of  the  me- 
chanical-dramatic." 

"  Thanks.  I  wanted  to  know  whether  you  thought  his  face 
and  form  required  that  his  words  should  be  among  the  mean- 
ings of  noble  music  ?"  Klesmer  was  conquered,  and  flashed  at 
her  a  delightful  smile  which  made  them  quite  friend Iv  until  she 
begged  to  be  deposited  by  the  side  of  her  mamma. 

Three  minutes  afterward  her  preparations  for  Grandcourt's 
indifference  were  all  canceled.  Turning  her  head  after  some 
remark  to  her  mother,  she  found  that  he  had  made  his  way 
up  to  her. 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  are  tired  of  dancing.  Miss  Harleth  ?"  he 
began,  looking  down  with  his  former  unperturbed  expression. 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"Will  you  do  me  the  honor — the  next  —  or  another  qua- 
drille?" 

"  I  should  have  been  very  happy,"  said  Gwendolen,  looking 
at  her  card,  "  but  I  am  engaged  for  the  next  to  Mr.  Clintock — 
and  indeed  I  perceive  that  I  am  doomed  for  every  quadrille  :  I 
have  not  one  to  dispose  of."  She  was  not  sorry  to  punish  Mr. 
Grandcourt's  tardiness,  yet  at  the  same  time  she  would  have 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  123 

liked  to  dance  with  him.  She  gave  him  a  charming  smile  as 
she  looked  up  to  deliver  her  answer,  and  he  stood  still,  looking 
down  at  her  with  no  smile  at  all. 

"I  am  unfortmiate  in  being  too  late,"  he  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause. 

"  It  seemed  to  me  that  you  did  not  care  for  dancing,"  said 
Gwendolen.  "  I  thouo'ht  it  miojht  be  one  of  the  thinors  you 
had  left  off." 

"  Yes,  but  I  have  not  begun  to  dance  with  you,"  said  Grand- 
court.  Always  there  was  the  same  pause  before  he  took  up 
his  cue.  "  You  make  dancing  a  new  thing — as  you  make  arch- 
ery." 

"  Is  novelty  always  agreeable  ?" 

"  Xo,  no — not  always." 

"  Then  I  don't  know  whether  to  feel  flattered  or  not.  Wlien 
you  had  once  danced  with  me  there  would  be  no  more  novelty 
ia  it." 

"  On  the  contrary.     There  would  probably  be  much  more." 

"  That  is  deep.     I  don't  understand." 

"  Is  it  difficult  to  make  Miss  Harleth  understand  her  power  ?'* 
Here  Grandcourt  had  turned  to  Mrs.  Davilow,  who,  smilinor 
gently  at  her  daughter,  said, 

"  I  think  she  does  not  generally  strike  people  as  slow  to  un- 
derstand." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Gwendolen,  in  a  deprecating  tone,  "  I  am 
adorably  stupid,  and  want  every  thing  explained  to  me — when 
the  meaning  is  pleasant." 

"  If  you  are  stupid,  I  admit  that  stupidity  is  adorable,"  re- 
turned Grandcourt,  after  the  usual  pause,  and  without  change 
of  tone.     But  clearly  he  knew  what  to  say. 

"  I  begin  to  think  that  my  cavalier  has  forgotten  me,"- Gwen- 
dolen observed  after  a  little  while.  "  I  see  the  quadrille  is  be- 
ing formed." 

"  He  deserves  to  be  renounced,"  said  Grandcourt. 

"  I  think  he  is  very  pardonable,"  said  Gwendolen.  • 

"There  must  have  been  some  misunderstanding,"  said  Mrs. 
Davilow.  "  Mr.  Clintock  was  too  anxiolis  about  the  eno-ajxe- 
ment  to  have  forgotten  it." 

But  now  Lady  Brackeushaw  came  up  and  said,  "  Miss  Har- 


124  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

leth,  Mr.  Clintock  has  charged  me  to  express  to  you  his  deep 
regret  that  he  was  obliged  to  leave  without  having  the  pleasure 
of  dancing  with  you  again.  An  express  came  from  his  father, 
the  archdeacon :  something  important :  he  was  obliged  to  go. 
He  was  au  desespoiry 

"  Oh,  he  was  very  good  to  remember  the  engagement  under 
the  circumstances,"  said  Gwendolen.  "I  am  sorry  he  was 
called  away."  It  was  easy  to  be  politely  sorrowful  on  so  felic- 
itous an  occasion. 

"Then  I  can  profit  by  Mr.  Clintock's  misfortune?"  said 
Grandcourt.  "  May  I  hope  that  you  will  let  me  take  his 
place?" 

"I  shall  be  very  happy  to  dance  the  next  quadrille  with 
you." 

The  appropriateness  of  the  event  seemed  an  augury,  and  as 
Gwendolen  stood  up  for  the  quadrille  w^ith  Grandcourt,  there 
was  a  revival  in  her  of  the  exultation — the  sense  of  carrying 
every  thing  before  her,  w^hich  she  had  felt  earlier  in  the  day. 
No  man  could  have  walked  through  the  quadrille  with  more 
irreproachable  ease  than  Grandcourt;  and  the  absence  of  all  ea- 
gerness in  his  attention  to  her  suited  his  partner's  taste.  She 
was  now  convinced  that  he  meant  to  distinguish  her,  to  mark 
his  admiration  of  her  in  a  noticeable  way  ;  and  it  began  to  ap- 
pear probable  that  she  would  have  it  in  her  power  to  reject 
him,  whence  there  was  a  pleasure  in  reckoning  up  the  advan- 
tages which  would  make  her  rejection  splendid,  and  in  giving 
Mr.  Grandcourt  his  utmost  value.  It  was  also  agreeable  to 
divine  that  his  exclusive  selection  of  her  to  dance  with,  from 
among  all  the  unmarried  ladies  present,  would  attract  observa- 
tion ;  though  she  studiously  avoided  seeing  this,  and  at  the  end- 
of  the  quadrille  walked  away  on  Grandcourt's  arm  as  if  she  had 
been  one  of  the  shortest- sighted  instead  of  the  longest  and 
widest  sighted  of  mortals.  They  encountered  Miss  Arrowpoint, 
who  was  standing  with  Lady  Brackenshaw  and  a  group  of  gen- 
tlemen. The  heiress  looked  at  Gwendolen  invitingly,  and  said, 
"  I  hope  you  will  vote  with  us.  Miss  Harleth,  and  Mr.  Grand- 
court  too,  though  he  is  not  an  archer."  Gwendolen  and  Grand- 
court  paused  to  join  the  group,  and  found  that  the  voting  turned 
on  the  project  of  a  picnic  archery  meeting  to  be  held  in  Car- 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  125 

dell  Chase,  where  the  evening  entertainment  would  be  more  po- 
etic than  a  ball  under  chandeliers — a  feast  of  sunset  lights  along 
the  glades  and  through  the  branches  and  over  the  solemn  tree- 
tops. 

Gwendolen  thought  the  scheme  delightful — equal  to  playing 
Robin  Hood  and  Maid  Marian ;  and  Mr.  Grandcourt,  when  ap- 
pealed to  a  second  time,  said  it  was  a  thing  to  be  done ;  where- 
upon Mr.  Lush,  who  stood  behind  Lady  Brackenshaw's  elbow, 
drew  Gwendolen's  notice  by  saying,  with  a  familiar  look  and 
tone,  to  Grandcourt, "  Diplow  would  be  a  good  place  for  the 
meeting,  and  more  convenient :  there's  a  fine  bit  between  the 
oaks  toward  the  north  gate." 

Impossible  to  look  more  unconscious  of  being  addressed  than 
Grandcourt ;  but  Gwendolen  took  a  new  survey  of  the  speaker, 
deciding,  first,  that  he  must  be  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the 
tenant  of  Diplow,  and,  secondly,  that  she  would  never,  if  she 
could  help  it,  let  him  come  within  a  yard  of  her.  She  was  sub- 
ject to  physical  antipathies,  and  Mr.  Lush's  prominent  eyes,  fat 
though  not  clumsy  figure,  and  strong  black,  gray-besprinkled 
hair  of  frizzy  thickness,  which,  with  the  rest  of  his  prosperous 
person,  was  enviable  to  many,  created  one  of  the  strongest  of 
her  antipathies.  To  be  safe  from  his  looking  at  her,  she  mur- 
mured to  Grandcourt,  "  I  should  like  to  continue  walking." 
.  He  obeyed  immediately;  but  when  they  were  thus  away 
from  any  audience,  he  spoke  no  word  for  several  minutes ;  and 
she,  out  of  a  half -amused,  half -serious  inclination  for  experi- 
ment, would  not  speak  first.  They  turned  into  the  large  con- 
servatory, beautifully  lighted  up  with  Chinese  lamps.  The  oth- 
er couples  there  were  at  a  distance  which  would  not  have  inter- 
fered with  any  dialogue ;  but  still  they  walked  in  silence  until 
they  had  reached  the  farther  end,  where  there  was  a  flush  of 
pink  light,  and  the  second  wide  opening  into  the  ball-room. 
Grandcourt,  when  they  had  half  turned  round,  paused,  and  said, 
languidly, 

"  Do  you  like  this  kind  of  thing  ?" 

If  the  situation  had  been  described  to  Gwendolen  half  an 
hour  before,  she  would  have  laughed  heartily  at  it,  and  could 
only  have  imagined  herself  returning  a  playful,  satirical  answer. 
But  for  some  mysterious  reason — it  was  a  mystery  of  which 


126  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

she  had  a  faint,  wondering  consciousness — she  dared  not  be  sa» 
tirical :  she  had  begun  to  feel  a  wand  over  her  that  made  hei 
afraid  of  offending  Grandcourt. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  quietly,  without  considering  what  "  kind  of 
thing  "  was  meant — whether  the  flowers,  the  scents,  the  ball  in 
general,  or  this  episode  of  walking  with  Mr.  Grandcourt  in  par- 
ticular. And  they  returned  along  the  conservatory  without 
further  interpretation.  She  then  proposed  to  go  and  sit  down 
in  her  old  place,  and  they  walked  among  scattered  couples  pre- 
paring for  the  waltz  to  the  spot  where  Mrs.  Davilow  had  been 
seated  all  the  evening.  As  they  approached  it  her  seat  was  va- 
cant, but  she  was  coming  toward  it  again,  and,  to  Gwendolen's 
shuddering  annoyance,  with  Mr.  Lush  at  her  elbow.  There  was 
no  avoiding  the  confrontation :  her  mamma  came  close  to  her 
before  they  had  reached  the  seats,  and,  after  a  quiet  greeting 
smile,  said,  innocently,  "  Gwendolen,  dear,  let  me  present  Mr. 
Lush  to  you."  Having  just  made  the  acquaintance  of  this  per- 
sonage, as  an  intimate  and  constant  companion  of  Mr.  Grand- 
court's,  Mrs.  Davilow  imagined  it  altogether  desirable  that  her 
daughter  also  should  make  the  acquaintance. 

It  was  hardly  a  bow  that  Gwendolen  gave  —  rather,  it  was 
the  slightest  forward  sweep  of  the  head  away  from  the  physi- 
ognomy that  inclined  itself  toward  her,  and  she  immediately 
moved  toward  her  seat,  saying,  "  I  want  to  put  on  my  bur- 
noose."  No  sooner  had  she  reached  it,  than  Mr.  Lush  was  there, 
and  had  the  burnoose  in  his  hand :  to  annoy  this  supercilious 
young  lady,  he  would  incur  the  offense  of  forestalling  Grand- 
court  ;  and,  holding  up  the  garment  close  to  Gwendolen,  he 
said,  "  Pray,  permit  me  !"  But  she,  wheeling  away  from  him 
as  if  he  had  been  a  muddy  hound,  glided  on  to  the  ottoman, 
saying,  "  No,  thank  you." 

A  man  who  forgave  this  would  have  much  Christian  feeling, 
supposing  he  had  intended  to  be  agreeable  to  the  young  lady ; 
but  before  he  seized  the  burnoose  Mr.  Lush  had  ceased  to  have 
that  intention.  Grandcourt  quietly  took  the  drapery  from  him, 
and  Mr.  Lush,  Avith  a  slight  bow,  moved  away. 

"  You  had  perhaps  better  put  it  on,"  said  Mr.  Grandcourt, 
looking  down  on  her  without  change  of  expression. 

"  Thanks ;  perhaps  it  would  be  wise,"  said  Gwendolen,  ris- 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  127 

ing,  and  submitting  very  gracefully  to  take  the  bnrnoose  on  her 
shoulders. 

x\fter  that,  Mr.  Grandcourt  exchanged  a  few  polite  speeches 
with  Mrs.  Davilow,  and,  in  taking  leave,  asked  peraaission  to 
call  at  Offendene  the  next  day.  He  was  evidently  not  offend- 
ed by  the  insult  directed  toward  his  friend.  Certainly,  Gwen- 
dolen's refusal  of  the  burnoose  from  Mr.  Lush  was  open  to  the 
interpretation  that  fehe  wished  to  receive  it  from  Mr.  Grand- 
court.  But  she,  poor  child,  had  had  no  design  in  this  action, 
and  was  simply  following  her  antipathy  and  inclination,  coD' 
fiding  in  them  as  she  did  in  the  more  reflective  judgments  into 
which  they  entered  as  sap  into  leafage.  Gwendolen  had  no 
sense  that  these  men  were  dark  enigmas  to  her,  or  that  she 
needed  any  help  in  drawing  conclusions  about  them — Mr.  Grand- 
court,  at  least.  The  chief  question  was,  how  far  his  character 
and  ways  might  answer  her  wishes ;  and  unless  she  were  satis- 
fied about  that,  she  had  said  to  herself  that  she  would  not  ac- 
cept his  offer. 

Could  there  be  a  slenderer,  more  insignificant  thread  in  hu- 
man history  than  this  consciousness  of  a  girl,  busy  with  her 
small  inferences  of  the  way  in  which  she  could  make  her  life 
pleasant? — in  a  time,  too,  when  ideas  were  with  fresh  vigor 
making  armies  of  themselves,  and  the  universal  kinship  was 
declaring  itself  fiercely:  when  women  on  the  other  side  of 
the  world  would  not  mourn  for  the  husbands  and  sons  who 
died  bravely  in  a  common  cause,  and  men  stinted  of  bread  on 
our  side  of  the  world  heard  of  that  willing  loss  and  were  pa- 
tient; a  time  when  the  soul  of  man  was  waking  to  pulses 
which  had  for  centuries  been  beating  in  him  unheard,  until 
their  full  sum  made  a  new  life  of  terror  or  of  joy. 

What  in  the  midst  of  that  mighty  drama  are  girls  and  their 
blind  visions?  They  are  the  Yea  or  Nay  of  that  good  for 
which  men  are  enduring  and  fighting.  In  these  delicate  ves- 
sels is  borne  onward  through  the  ages  the  treasure  of  human 
affections. 


128  DANIEL    DERONDA. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  0  gentlemen,  the  time  of  life  is  short : 
To  spend  that  shortness  basely  were  too  long, 
If  life  did  ride  upon  a  dial's  point, 
Still  ending  at  the  arrival  of  an  hour." 

Shakspeare  :  Henry  IV. 

On  the  second  day  after  the  archery  meeting,  Mr.  Henleigh 
Mallinger  Grandcourt  was  at  his  breakfast-table  with  Mr.  Lush. 
Every  thing  around  them  was  agreeable :  the  summer  air  through 
the  open  windows,  at  which  the  dogs  could  walk  in  from  the 
old  green  turf  on  the  lawn ;  the  soft,  purplish  coloring  of  the 
park  beyond,  stretching  toward  a  mass  of  bordering  wood ;  the 
still-life  in  the  room,  which  seemed  the  stiller  for  its  sober,  an- 
tiquated elegance,  as  if  it  kept  a  conscious,  well-bred  silence, 
unlike  the  restlessness  of  vulgar  furniture. 

Whether  the  gentlemen  were  agreeable  to  each  other  was  less 
evident.  Mr.  Grandcourt  had  drawn  his  chair  aside  so  as  to 
face  the  lawn,  and,  with  his  left  leg  over  another  chair,  and  his 
right  elbow  on  the  table,  was  smoking  a  large  cigar,  while  his 
companion  was  still  eating.  The  dogs — half  a  dozen  of  vari- 
ous kinds  were  moving  lazily  in  and  out,  or  taking  attitudes  of 
brief  attention — gave  a  vacillating  preference  first  to  one  gen- 
tleman, then  to  the  other ;  being  dogs  in  such  good  circum- 
stances that  they  could  play  at  hunger,  and  liked  to  be  served 
with  delicacies  which  they  declined  to  put  into  their  mouths ; 
all  except  Fetch,  the  beautiful  liver-colored  water-spaniel,  which 
sat  with  its  forepaws  firmly  planted,  and  its  expressive  brown 
face  turned  upward,  watching  Grandcourt  with  unshaken  con- 
stancy. He  held  in  his  lap  a  tiny  Maltese  dog  with  a  tiny  sil- 
ver collar  and  bell,  and  when  he  had  a  hand  unused  by  cigar  or 
coffee-cup,  it  rested  on  this  small  parcel  of  animal  warmth.  I 
fear  that  Fetch  was  jealous,  and  wounded  that  her  master  gave 
her  no  word  or  look ;  at  last  it  seemed  that  she  could  bear  this 
neglect  no  longer,  and  she  gently  put  her  large  silky  paw  on 


BOOK  II. MEETING  STREAMS.  129 

her  master's  leg.  Grandcoiirt  looked  at  her  with  unchanged 
face  for  half  a  minute,  and  then  took  the  trouble  to  lay  down 
his  cigar  while  he  lifted  the  unimpassioned  Fluff  close  to  his 
chin  and  gave  it  caressing  pats,  all  the  while  gravely  watching 
Fetch,  who,  poor  thing,  whimpered  interruptedly,  as  if  trying 
to  repress  that  sign  of  discontent,  and  at  last  rested  her  head 
beside  the  appealing  paw,  looking  up  with  piteous  beseeching. 
So,  at  least,  a  lover  of  dogs  must  have  interpreted  Fetch,  and 
Grandcourt  kept  so  many  dogs  that  he  w^as  reputed  to  love 
them ;  at  any  rate,  his  impulse  to  act  just  in  this  way  started 
from  such  an  interpretation.  But  when  the  amusing  anguish 
burst  forth  in  a  howling  bark,  Grandcourt  pushed  Fetch  down 
without  speaking,  and,  depositing  Fluff  carelessly  on  the  table 
(where  his  black  nose  predominated  over  a  salt-cellar),  began 
to  look  to  his  cigar,  and  .found,  with  some  annoyance  against 
Fetch  as  the  cause,  that  the  brute  of  a  cigar  required  relight- 
ing. Fetch,  having  begun  to  wail,  found,  like  others  of  her 
sex,  that  it  was  not  easy  to  leave  off ;  indeed,  the  second  howl 
was  a  louder  one,  and  the  third  was  like  unto  it. 

"  Turn  out  that  brute,  will  you  ?"  said  Grandcourt  to  Lush, 
without  raising  his  voice  or  looking  at  him — as  if  he  counted 
on  attention  to  the  smallest  ^ign. 

And  Lush  immediately  rose,  lifted  Fetch,  though  she  was 
rather  heavy  and  he  was  not  fond  of  stooping,  and  carried  her 
out,  disposing  of  her  in  some  way  that  took  him  a  couple  of 
minutes  before  he  returned.  He  then  lighted  a  cigar,  placed 
himself  at  an  angle  where  he  could  see  Grandcourt's  face  with- 
out turning,  and  presently  said, 

"  Shall  you  ride  or  drive  to  Quetcham  to-day  ?" 

"  I  am  not  going  to  Quetcham." 

"  You  did  not  go  yesterday." 

Grandcourt  smoked  in  silence  for  half  a  minute,  and  then 
said, 

"  I  suppose  you  sent  my  card  and  inquiries." 

"  I  went  myself  at  four,  and  said  you  were  sure  to  be  there 
shortly.  They  would  suppose  some  accident  prevented  you 
from  fulfilling  the  intention,  especially  if  you  go  to-day." 

Silence  for  a  couple  of  minutes.  Then  Grandcourt  sFid, 
"  WTiat  men  are  invited  here  with  their  wives  ? ' 

0* 


130  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Lush  drew  out  a  note-book.  "  The  captain  and  Mrs.  Tor- 
rington  come  next  week.  Then  there  are  Mr.  HolHs,  and  Lady 
Flora,  and  the  Cushats,  and  the  Gogoffs." 

"Rather  a  ragged  lot,"  remarked  Grandcourt  after  a  while. 
*'  Why  did  you  ask  the  Gogoffs  ?  When  you  write  invitations 
in  my  name,  be  good  enough  to  give  me  a  list,  instead  of  bring- 
ing down  a  giantess  on  me  without  my  knowledge.  She  spoils 
the  look  of  the  room." 

"  You  invited  the  Gogoffs  yourself,  when  you  met  them  in 
Paris." 

"What  has  my  meeting  them  in  Paris  to  do  with  it?  I 
told  you  to  give  me  a  list." 

Grandcourt,  like  many  others,  had  two  remarkably  different 
voices.  Hitherto  we  have  heard  him  speaking  in  a  superficial, 
interrupted  drawl  suggestive  chiefly  of  languor  and  ennui.  But 
this  last  brief  speech  was  uttered  in  subdued,  inward,  yet  dis- 
tinct tones,  which  Lush  had  long  been  used  to  recognize  as  the 
expression  of  a  peremptory  will. 

"Are  there  any  other  couples  you  would  like  to  invite  ?" 

"  Yes ;  think  of  some  decent  people,  with  a  daughter  or  two. 
And  one  of  your  d — d  musicians.     But  not  a  comic  fellow." 

"  I  wonder  if  Klesmer  would  consent  to  come  to  us  when  he 
leaves  Quetchara.  Nothing  but  first-rate  music  will  go  down 
with  Miss  Arrowpoint." 

Lush  spoke  carelessly,  but  he  was  really  seizing  an  opportu- 
nity, and  fixing  an  observant  look  on  Grandcourt,  who  now  for 
the  first  time  turned  his  eyes  toward  his  companion,  but  slowly, 
and  without  speaking  until  he  had  given  two  long  luxurious 
puffs,  when  he  said,  perhaps  in  a  lower  tone  than  ever,  but 
with  a  perceptible  edge  of  contempt, 

"  What  in  the  name  of  nonsense  have  I  to  do  with  Miss  Ar- 
rowpoint and  her  music  ?" 

"  Well,  something,"  said  Lush,  jocosely.  "  You  need  not 
give  yourself  much  trouble,  perhaps.  But  some  forms  must  be 
gone  through  before  a  man  can  marry  a  million." 

"  Very  likely.     But  I  am  not  going  to  marry  a  million." 

"  That's  a  pity — to  fling  away  an  opportunity  of  this  sort, 
and  knock  down  your  own  plans." 

"  Your  plans,  I  suppose  you  mean." 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  131 

''  You  have  some  debts,  j-ou  know,  and  things  may  turn  out 
inconveniently,  after  all.  The  lieirship  is  not  absolutely  cer- 
tain." 

Grandcourt  did  not  answer,  and  Lush  went  on. 

"It  really  is  a  fine  opportunity.  The  father  and  mother 
ask  for  nothing  better,  I  can  see,  and  the  daughter's  looks  and 
manners  require  no  allowances,  any  more  than  if  she  hadn't 
a  sixpence.  She  is  not  beautiful ;  but  equal  to  carrying  any 
rank.  And  she  is  not  likely  to  refuse  such  prospects  as  you 
can  offer  her." 

"Perhaps  not." 

"The  father  and  mother  would  let  you  do  any  thing  you 
liked  with  them." 

"  But  I  should  not  like  to  do  any  thing  with  them." 

Here  it  was  Lush  who  made  a  little  pause  before  speaking 
again,  and  then  he  said,  in  a  deep  voice  of  remonstrance,  "  Good 
God,  Grandcourt !  after  your  experience,  will  you  let  a  whim  in- 
terfere with  your  comfortable  settlement  in  life  ?" 

"  Spare  your  oratory.     I  know  what  I  am  going  to  do." 

"  What  ?"  Lush  put  down  his  cigar  and  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  side-pockets,  as  if  he  had  to  face  something  exaspera- 
ting, but  meant  to  keep  his  temper. 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  the  other  girl." 

"  Have  you  fallen  in  love  ?"  This  question  carried  a  strong 
sneer. 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  her." 

"  You  have  made  her  an  offer  already,  then  ?" 

"  No." 

"  She  is  a  young  lady  with  a  will  of  her  own,  I  fancy.  Ex- 
tremely well  fitted  to  make  a  rumpus.  She  would  know  what 
she  liked." 

"  She  doesn't  like  you,"  said  Grandcourt,  with  the  ghost  of 
a  smile. 

"Perfectly  true,"  said  Lush,  adding  again  in  a  markedly 
sneering  tone,  "  However,  if  you  and  she  are  devoted  to  each 
other,  that  will  be  enough." 

Grandcourt  took  no  notice  of  this  speech,  but  sipped  his 
coffee,  rose,  and  strolled  out  on  the  lawn,  all  the  ctogs  following 
him. 


132  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Lush  glanced  after  him  a  moment,  then  resumed  his  cigat 
and  Hghted  it,  but  smoked  slowly,  consulting  his  beard  with  in- 
specting eyes  and  fingers,  till  he  finally  stroked  it  with  an  air  of 
having  arrived  at  some  conclusion,  and  said,  in  a  subdued  voice, 

"  Check,  old  boy !" 

Lush,  being  a  man  of  some  ability,  had  not  known  Grand- 
court  for  fifteen  years  without  learning  what  sort  of  measures 
were  useless  with  him,  though  what  sort  might  be  useful  re- 
mained often  dubious.  In  the  beginning  of  his  career  he  held 
a  fellowship,  and  was  near  taking  orders  for  the  sake  of  a  col- 
lege living,  but,  not  being  fond  of  that  prospect,  accepted  in- 
stead the  office  of  traveling  companion  to  a  marquess,  and  aft- 
erward to  young  Grandcourt,  who  had  lost  his  father  early,  and 
who  found  Lush  so  convenient  that  he  had  allowed  him  to  be- 
come prime  minister  in  all  his  more  personal  affairs.  The  habit 
of  fifteen  years  had  made  Grandcourt  more  and  more  in  need 
of  Lush's  handiness,  and  Lush  more  and  more  in  need  of  the 
lazy  luxury  to  which  his  transactions  on  behalf  of  Grandcourt 
made  no  interruption  worth  reckoning.  I  can  not  say  that  the 
same  lengthened  habit  had  intensified  Grandcourt's  want  of  re- 
spect for  his  companion,  since  that  want  had  been  absolute  from 
the  beginning,  but  it  had  confirmed  his  sense  that  he  might 
kick  Lush  if  he  chose — only  he  never  did  choose  to  kick  any 
animal,  because  the  act  of  kicking  is  a  compromising  attitude, 
and  a  gentleman's  dogs  should  be  kicked  for  him.  He  only 
said  things  which  might  have  exposed  himself  to  be  kicked  if 
his  confidant  had  been  a  man  of  independent  spirit.  But  what 
son  of  a  vicar  who  has  stinted  his  wife  and  daughters  of  calico, 
in  order  to  send  his  male  offspring  to  Oxford,  can  keep  an  in- 
dependent spirit  when  he  is  bent  on  dining  with  high  discrimi- 
nation, riding  good  horses,  living  generally  in  the  most  luxuriant, 
honey-blossomed  clover— and  all  without  working?  Mr.  Lush 
had  passed  for  a  scholar  once,  and  had  still  a  sense  of  scholar- 
ship when  he  was  not  trying  to  remember  much  of  it ;  but  the 
bachelors'  and  other  arts  which  soften  manners  are  a  time-hon- 
ored preparation  for  sinecures ;  and  Lush's  present  comfortable 
provision  w^as  as  good  as  a  sinecure  in  not  requiring  more  than 
the  odor  of  departed  learning.  He  was  not  unconscious  of 
being  held  kickable,  but  he  preferred  counting  that  estimate 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  133 

amoug  the  peculiarities  of  Grandcourt's  character,  which  made 
one  of  his  incalculable  moods  or  judgments  as  good  as  another. 
Since  in  his  own  opinion  he  had  never  done  a  bad  action,  it  did 
not  seem  necessary  to  consider  whether  he  should  be  likely  to 
commit  one  if  his  love  of  ease  required  it.  Lush's  love  of  ease 
was  well  satisfied  at  present,  and  if  his  puddings  were  rolled  to- 
ward him  in  the  dust,  he  took  the  inside  bits  and  found  them 
relishing. 

This  morning,  for  example,  though  he  had  encountered  more 
annoyance  than  usual,  he  went  to  his  private  sitting-room  and 
played  a  good  hour  on  the  violoncello. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Philistia,  be  thou  glad  of  me !" 


Grand  COURT,  having  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  Miss  Har- 
leth,  showed  a  power  of  adapting  means  to  ends.  During  the 
next  fortnight  there  was  hardly  a  day  on  which,  by  some  ar- 
rangement or  other,  he  did  not  see  her,  or  prove  by  emphatic 
attentions  that  she  occupied  his  thoughts.  His  cousin,  Mrs. 
Torrington,  was  now  doing  the  honors  of  his  house,  so  that 
Mrs.  Davilow  and  Gwendolen  could  be  invited  to  a  large  party 
at  Diplow  in  which  there  were  many  witnesses  how  the  host 
distinguished  the  dowerless  beauty,  and  showed  no  solicitude 
about  the  heiress.  The  w^orld — I  mean  Mr.  Gascoigne  and  all 
the  families  worth  speaking  of  within  visiting  distance  of  Pen- 
nicote — felt  an  assurance  on  the  subject  w^hich  in  the  rector's 
mind  converted  itself  into  a  resolution  to  do  his  duty  by  his 
niece,  and  see  that  the  settlements  were  adequate.  Indeed,  the 
wonder  to  him  and  Mrs.  Davilow  was  that  the  offer  for  which 
so  many  suitable  occasions  presented  themselves  had  not  been 
already  made ;  and  in  this  wonder  Grandcourt  himself  was  not 
without  a  share.  When  he  had  told  his  resolution  to  Lush,  he 
had  thought  that  the  affair  would  be  concluded  more  quickly, 
and  to  his  own  surprise  he  had  repeatedly  promised  himself  in 
a  morning  that  he  would  to-day  give  Gwendolen  the  opportu- 
nity of  accepting  him,  and  had  found  in  the  evening-  that  the 


134  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

necessary  formality  was  still  unaccomplislied.  This  remarka- 
ble fact  served  to  heighten  his  determination  on  another  day. 
He  had  never  admitted  to  himself  that  Gwendolen  might. re- 
fuse him,  but — Heaven  help  us  all ! — we  are  often  unable  to 
act  on  our  certainties ;  our  objection  to  a  contrary  issue,  (were 
it  possible)  is  so  strong  that  it  rises  like  a  spectral  illusion 
between  us  and  our  certainty :  we  are  rationally  sure  that  the 
blind-worm  can  not  bite  us  mortally,  but  it  would  be  so  intol- 
erable to  be  bitten,  and  the  creature  has  a  biting  look — we  de- 
cline to  handle  it. 

He  had  asked  leave  to  have  a  beautiful  horse  of  his  brought 
for  Gwendolen  to  ride.  Mrs.  Davilow  was  to  accompany  her  in 
the  carriage,  and  they  were  to  go  to  Diplow  to  lunch,  Grand- 
court  conducting  them.  It  was  a  fine  mid-harvest  time,  not  too 
warm  for  a  noonday  ride  of  five  miles  to  be  delightful :  the 
poppies  glowed  on  the  borders  of  the  fields,  there  was  enough 
breeze  to  move  gently  like  a  social  spirit  among  the  ears  of  un- 
cut corn,  and  to  wing  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  across  the  soft 
gray  downs;  here  the  sheaves  were  standing,  there  the  horses 
were  straining  their  muscles  under  the  last  load  from  a  wide 
space  of  stubble,  but  everywhere  the  green  pastures  made  a 
broader  setting  for  the  corn-fields,  and  the  cattle  took  their  rest 
under  wide  branches.  The  road  lay  through  a  bit  of  country 
where  the  dairy-farms  looked  much  as  they  did  in  the  days  of 
our  forefathers — where  peace  and  permanence  seemed  to  find  a 
home  away  from  the  busy  change  that  sent  the  railway  train 
flying  in  the  distance. 

But  the  spirit  of  peace  and  permanence  did  not  penetrate 
poor  Mrs.  Davilow's  mind  so  as  to  overcome  her  habit  of  un- 
easy foreboding.  Gwendolen  and  Grandcourt  cantering  in 
front  of  her,  and  then  slackening  their  pace  to  a  conversational 
walk  till  the  carriage  came  up  with  them  again,  made  a  gratify- 
ing sight ;  but  it  served  chiefly  to  keep  up  the  conflict  of  hopes 
and  fears  about  her  daughter's  lot.  Here  was  an  irresistible 
opportunity  for  a  lover  to  speak  and  put  an  end  to  all  uncer- 
tainties, and  Mrs.  Davilow  could  only  hope  with  trembling  that 
Gwendolen's  decision  would  be  favorable.  Certainly  if  Rex's 
love  had  been  repugnant  to  her,  Mr.  Grandcourt  had  the  advan- 
tage of  being  in  complete  contrast  with  Rex ;  and  that  he  had 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  135 

produced  some  quite  novel  impression  on  her  seemed  evident 
in  lier  marked  abstinence  from  satirical  observations,  nay,  her 
total  silence  about  his  characteristics,  a  silence  which  Mrs.  Davi- 
low  did  not  dare  to  break.  "Is  he  a  man  she  would  be  hap- 
py with  ?"  was  a  question  that  inevitably  arose  in  the  mother's 
mind.  "  Well,  perhaps  as  happy  as  she  would  be  with  any  one 
else  —  or  as  most  other  women  are" — was  the  answer  with 
which  she  tried  to  quiet  herself;  for  she  could  not  imagine 
Gwendolen  under  the  influence  of  any  feeling  which  would 
make  her  satisfied  in  what  we  traditionally  call "  mean  circum- 
stances." 

Grandcourt's  own  thought  was  looking  in  the  same  direction  : 
he  wanted  to  have  done  with  the  uncertainty  that  belonged  to 
his  not  having  spoken.  As  to  any  further  uncertainty — well, 
it  was  something  without  any  reasonable  basis,  some  quality  in 
the  air  which  acted  as  an  irritant  to  his  wishes. 

Gwendolen  enjoyed  the  riding,  but  her  pleasure  did  not  break 
forth  in  girlish,  unpremeditated  chat  and  laughter  as  it  did  on 
that  morning  with  Rex.  She  spoke  a  little,  and  even  laughed, 
but  with  a  lightness  as  of  a  far-off  echo.  For  her,  too,  there  was 
some  peculiar  quality  in  the  air — not,  she  was  sure,  any  subju- 
gation of  her  will  by  Mr.  Grandcourt,  and  the  splendid  prospects 
he  meant  to  offer  her ;  for  Gwendolen  desired  every  one,  that 
dignified  gentleman  himself  included,  to  understand  that  she 
was  going  to  do  just  as  she  liked,  and  that  they  had  better  not 
calculate  on  her  pleasing  them.  If  she  chose  to  take  this  hus- 
band, she  would  have  him  know  that  she  was  not  going  to  re- 
nounce her  freedom,  or,  according  to  her  favorite  formula,  "  not 
going  to  do  as  other  w^omen  did." 

Grandcourt's  speeches  this  morning  were,  as  usual,  all  of  that 
brief  sort  w^hich  never  fails  to  make  a  conversational  figure  when 
the  speaker  is  held  important  in  his  circle.  Stopping  so  soon, 
they  give  signs  of  a  suppressed  and  formidable  ability  to  say 
njore,  and  have  also  the  meritorious  quality  of  allowing  lengthi- 
ness  to  others. 

"  How  do  you  like  Criterion's  paces  ?"  he  said,  after  they  had 
entered  the  park,  and  were  slackening  from  a  canter  to  a  walk. 

"  He  is  delightful  to  ride.  I  should  like  to  have  a  leap  with 
him,  if  it  would  not  frighten  mamma.     There  was  a  good  wide 


136  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

channel  we  passed  five  minutes  ago.  I  should  like  to  have  a 
gallop  back  and  take  it." 

"  Pray  do.     We  can  take  it  together." 

''  No,  thanks.  Mamma  is  so  timid — if  she  saw  me,  it  might 
make  her  ill." 

"  Let  me  go  and  explain.  Criterion  would  take  it  without 
fail." 

"  No,  indeed ;  you  are  very  kind,  but  it  would  alarm  her 
too  much.  I  dare  take  any  leap  when  she  is  not  by ;  but  I  do 
it,  and  don't  tell  her  about  it." 

"  We  can  let  the  carriage  pass,  and  then  set  off." 

"  No,  no,  pray  don't  think  of  it  any  more ;  I  spoke  quite 
randomly,"  said  Gwendolen :  she  began  to  feel  a  new  objection 
to  carrying  out  her  own  proposition. 

"  But  Mrs.  Davilow  knows  I  shall  take  care  of  you." 

"  Yes,  but  she  would  think  of  you  as  having  to  take  care  of 
my  broken  neck." 

There  was  a  considerable  pause  before  Grandcourt  said,  look- 
ing toward  her,  "  I  should  like  to  have  the  right  always  to  take 
care  of  you." 

Gwendolen  did  not  turn  her  eyes  on  him :  it  seemed  to  her 
a  long  while  that  she  was  first  blushing,  and  then  turning  pale ; 
but  to  Grandcourt's  rate  of  judgment  she  answered  soon 
enough,  with  the  lightest  flute-tone  and  a  careless  movement  of 
the  head,  "  Oh,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  want  to  be  taken  care  of : 
if  I  chose  to  risk  breaking  my  neck,  I  should  like  to  be  at  lib- 
erty to  do  it." 

She  checked  her  horse  as  she  spoke,  and  turned  in  her  sad- 
dle, looking  toward  the  advancing  carriage.  Her  eyes  swept 
across  Grandcourt  as  she  made  this  movement,  but  there  was 
no  language  in  them  to  correct  the  carelessness  of  her  reply. 
At  that  very  moment  she  was  aware  that  she  was  risking  some- 
thing—  not  her  neck,  but  the  possibility  of  finally  checking 
Grandcourt's  advances,  and  she  did  not  feel  contented  with  the 
possibility. 

"D — n  her!"  thought  Grandcourt,  as  he  too  checked  his 
horse.  He  was  not  a  wordy  thinker,  and  this  explosive  phrase 
stood  for  mixed  impressions  which  eloquent  interpreters  might 
have  expanded  into  some  sentences  full  of  an  irritated  sense 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  137 

that  he  was  being  mystified,  and  a  determination  that  this  girl 
^should  not  make  a  fool  of  him.  Did  she  want  him  to  throw 
himself  at  her  feet  and  declare  that  he  was  dying  for  her  ?  It 
was  not  by  that  gate  that*  she  would  enter  on  the  privileges  he 
could  give  her.  Or  did  she  expect  him  to  write  his  proposals  ? 
Equally  a  delusion.  He  would  not  make  his  offer  in  any  way 
that  could  place  him  definitely  in  the  position  of  being  reject- 
ed. But  as  to  her  accepting  him,  she  had  done  it  already  in 
accepting  his  marked  attentions ;  and  any  thing  which  hap- 
pened to  break  them  off  would  be  understood  to  her  disadvan- 
tage.    She  was  merely  coquetting,  then  ? 

However,  the  carriage  came  up,  and  no  further  tete-a-tete 
could  well  occur  before  their  arrival  at  the  house,  where  there 
was  abundant  company,  to  whom  Gwendolen,  clad  in  riding- 
dress,  with  her  hat  laid  aside,  clad  also  in  the  repute  of  being 
chosen  by  Mr.  Grandcourt,  was  naturally  a  centre  of  observa- 
tion ;  and  since  the  objectionable  Mr.  Lush  was  not  there  to 
look  at  her,  this  stimulus  of  admiring  attention  heightened  her 
spirits,  and  dispersed,  for  the  time,  the  uneasy  consciousness  of 
divided  impulses  which  threatened  her  with  repentance  of  her 
own  acts.  -  Whether  Grandcourt  had  been  offended  or  not, 
there  was  no  judging :  his  manners  were  unchanged,  but  Gwen- 
dolen's acuteness  had  not  gone  deeper  than  to  discern  that  his 
manners  were  no  clue  for  her,  and  because  these  were  unchanged 
she  was  not  the  less  afraid  of  him. 

She  had  not  been  at  Diplow  before  except  to  dine ;  and  since 
certain  points  of  view  from  the  windows  and  the  garden  were 
worth  showing.  Lady  Flora  Hollis  proposed  after  luncheon, 
when  some  of  the  guests  had  dispersed,  and  the  sun  was  slop- 
ing toward  four  o'clock,  that  the  remaining  party  should  make 
a  little  exploration.  Here  came  frequent  opportunities  when 
Grandcourt  might  have  retained  Gwendolen  apart  and  have 
spoken  to  her  unheard.  But  no.  He  indeed  spoke  to  no  one 
else,  but  what  he  said  was  nothing  more  eager  or  intimate  than 
it  had  been  in  their  first  interview.  He  looked  at  her  not  less 
than  usual ;  and  some  of  her  defiant  spirit  having  come  back, 
she  looked  full  at  him  in  return,  not  caring — rather  preferring 
— that  his  eyes  had  no  expression  in  them. 

But  at  last  it  seemed  as  if  he  entertained  some  contrivance. 


138  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

After  they  had  nearly  made  the  tour  of  the  grounds,  the  whole 
party  paused  by  the  pool  to  be  amused  with  Fetch's  accomplish- 
ment of  bringing  a  water-lily  to  the  bank  like  Cowper's  spaniel 
Beau;  and  having  been  disappointed  in  his  first  attempt,  in- 
sisted on  his  trying  again. 

Here  Grandcourt,  who  stood  with  Gwendolen  outside  the 
group,  turned  deliberately,  and,  fixing  his  eyes  on  a  knoll  plant- 
ed with  American  shrubs,  and  having  a  winding  path  up  it, 
said,  languidly, 

"  This  is  a  bore.     Shall  we  go  up  there  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly — since  we  are  exploring,"  said  Gwendolen. 
She  was  rather  pleased,  and  yet  afraid. 

The  path  was  too  narrow  for  him  to  offer  his  arm,  and  they 
walked  up  in  silence.  When  they  were  on  the  bit  of  platform 
at  the  summit,  Grandcourt  said, 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  seen  here ;  the  thing  was  not  worth 
climbing." 

How  was  it  that  Gwendolen  did  not  laugh  ?  She  was  per- 
fectly silent,  holding  up  the  folds  of  her  robe  like  a  statue,  and 
giving  a  harder  grasp  to  the  handle  of  her  whip,  w^hich  she  had 
snatched  up  automatically  with  her  hat  when  they  had  first  set 
off. 

"  What  sort  of  place  do  you  like  ?"  said  Grandcourt. 

"  Different  places  are  agreeable  in  their  way.  On  the  whole, 
I  think,  I  prefer  places  that  are  open  and  cheerful.  I  am  not 
fond  of  any  thing  sombre." 

"  Your  place  at  Offendene  is  too  sombre." 

"  It  is,  rather." 

"  You  will  not  remain  there  long,  I  hope." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  think  so.     Mamma  likes  to  be  near  her  sister." 

Silence  for  a  short  space. 

"  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  you  will  always  live  there, 
though  Mrs.  Davilow  may." 

"  I  don't  know.  We  women  can't  go  in  search  of  advent- 
ures— to  find  out  the  North-west  Passage  or  the  source  of  the 
Nile,  or  to  hunt  tigers  in  the  East.  We  must  stay  where  we 
grow,  or  where  the  gardeners  like  to  transplant  us.  We  are 
brought  up  like  the  flowers,  to  look  as  pretty  as  we  can,  and 
be  dull  without  complaining.     That  is  my  notion  about  the 


EOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  139 

plants ;  they  are  often  bored,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  some 
of  them  have  got  poisonous.  What  do  you  think  ?"  Gwendo- 
len had  run  on  rather  nervously,  lightly  whipping  the  rhodo- 
dendron bush  in  front  of  her. 

"  I  quite  agree.  Most  things  are  bores,"  said  Grandcourt, 
his  mind  having  been  pushed  into  an  easy  current,  away  from 
its  intended  track.  But  after  a  moment's  pause  he  continued, 
in  his  broken,  refined  drawl, 

"  But  a  woman  can  be  married." 

"  Some  women  can." 

*'  You  certainly,  unless  you  are  obstinately  cruel." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  am  not  both  cruel  and  obstinate." 
Here  Gwendolen  suddenly  turned  her  head  and  looked  full  at 
Grandcourt,  whose  eyes  she  had  felt  to  be  upon  her  through- 
out their  conversation.  She  was  wondering  what  the  effect  of 
looking  at  him  would  be  on  herself  rather  than  on  him. 

He  stood  perfectly  still,  half  a  yard  or  more  away  from  her ; 
and  it  flashed  through  her  thought  that  a  sort  of  lotos-eater's 
stupor  had  begun  in  him,  and  was  taking  possession  of  her. 
Then  he  said, 

"Are  you  as  uncertain  about  yourself  as  you  make  others 
about  you  ?" 

"  I  am  quite  uncertain  about  myself ;  I  don't  know  how  un- 
certain others  may  be." 

"And  you  wish  them  to  understand  that  you  don't  care  ?" 
said  Grandcourt,  with  a  touch  of  new  hardness  in  his  tone. 

''  I  did  not  say  that,"  Gwendolen  replied,  hesitatingly,  and, 
turning  her  eyes  away,  whipped  the  rhododendron  bush  again. 
She  wished  she  were  on  horseback  that  she  might  set  off  on  a 
canter.     It  was  impossible  to  set  off  running  down  the  knoll. 

"  You  do  care,  then,"  said  Grandcourt,  not  more  quickly,  but 
with  a  softened  drawl. 

"  Ha !  my  whip  !"  said  Gwendolen,  in  a  little  scream  of  dis- 
tress. She  had  let  it  go  —  what  could  be  more  natural  in  a 
slight  agitation  ? — and  (but  this  seemed  less  natural  in  a  gold- 
handled  whip  which  had  been  left  altogether  to  itself)  it  had 
gone  with  some  force  over  the  immediate  shrubs,  and  had 
lodged  itself  in  the  branches  of  an  azalea  half-way  down  the 
knoll.     She  could  run  down  now,  laughing  prettily,  and  Grand- 


140  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

court  was  obliged  to  follow ;  but  sbe  was  beforehand  with  him 
in  rescuing  the  whip,  and  continued  on  her  way  to  the  level 
ground,  when  she  paused,  and  looked  at  Grandcourt  with  an 
exasperating  brightness  in  her  glance,  and  a  heightened  color, 
as  if  she  had  carried  a  triumph,  and  these  indications  were  still 
noticeable  to  Mrs.  Davilow  when  Gwendolen  and  Grandcourt 
joined  the  rest  of  the  party. 

"  It  is  all  coquetting,"  thought  Grandcourt ;  "  the  next  time 
I  beckon  she  will  come  down." 

It  seemed  to  him  likely  that  this  final  beckoning  might  hap- 
pen the  very  next  day,  when  there  was  to  be  a  picnic  archery- 
meeting  in  Cardell  Chase,  according  to  the  plan  projected  on 
the  evening  of  the  ball. 

Even  in  Gwendolen's  mind  that  result  was  one  of  two  likeli- 
hoods that  presented  themselves  alternately,  one  of  two  decisions 
toward  which  she  was  being  precipitated,  as  if  they  were  two 
sides  of  a  boundary-line,  and  she  did  not  know  on  which  she 
should  fall.  This  subjection  to  a  possible  self,  a  self  not  to  be 
absolutely  predicted  about,  caused  her  some  astonishment  and 
terror :  her  favorite  key  of  life — doing  as  she  liked — seemed  to 
fail  her,  and  she  could  not  foresee  what  at  a  given  moment  she 
might  like  to  do.  The  prospect  of  marrying  Grandcourt  real- 
ly seemed  more  attractive  to  her  than  she  had  believed  before- 
hand that  any  marriage  could  be :  the  dignities,  the  luxuries, 
the  power  of  doing  a  great  deal  of  what  she  liked  to  do,  which 
had  now  come  close  to  her,  and  within  her  choice  to  secure 
or  to  lose,  took  hold  of  her  nature  as  if  it  had  been  the  strong 
odor  of  what  she  had  only  imagined  and  longed  for  before. 
And  Grandcourt  himself  ?  He  seemed  as  little  of  a  flaw  in  his 
fortunes  as  a  lover  and  husband  could  possibly  be.  Gwendolen 
wished  to  mount  the  chariot  and  drive  the  plunging  horses  her- 
self, with  a  spouse  by  her  side  who  would  fold  his  arms  and 
give  her  his  countenance  without  looking  ridiculous.  Certain- 
ly, with  all  her  perspicacity,  and  all  the  reading  which  seemed 
to  her  mamma  dangerously  instructive,  her  judgment  was  con- 
sciously a  little  at  fault  before  Grandcourt.  He  was  adorably 
quiet  and  free  from  absurdities — he  could  be  a  husband  en  suite 
with  the  best  appearance  a  woman  could  make.  But  what  else 
was  he  ?    He  had  been  everywhere,  and  seen  every  thing.     That 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  141 

was  desirable,  and  especially  gratifying  as  a  preamble  to  bis  su- 
preme preference  for  Gwendolen  Harletb.  He  did  not  appear 
to  enjoy  any  thmg  much.  That  was  not  necessary :  and  the 
less  he  had  of  particular  tastes  or  desires,  the  more  freedom  his 
wife  was  likely  to  have  in  following  hers.  Gw^endolen  con- 
ceived that  after  marriage  she  would  most  probably  be  able  to 
manage  him  thoroughly. 

How  was  it  that  he  caused  her  unusual  constraint  now  ? — 
that  she  was  less  daring  and  playful  in  her  talk  with  him  than 
with  any  other  admirer  she  had  known  ?  That  absence  of  de- 
monstrativeness  which  she  was  glad  of  acted  as  a  charm  in  more 
senses  than  one,  and  was  slightly  benumbing.  Grandcourt,  after 
all,  was  formidable — a  handsome  lizard  of  a  hitherto  unknown 
species,  not  of  the  lively,  darting  kind.  But  Gwendolen  knew 
hardly  any  thing  about  lizards,  and  ignorance  gives  one  a  large 
range  of  probabilities.  This  splendid  specimen  was  probably 
gentle,  suitable  as  a  boudoir  pet :  what  may  not  a  lizard  be,  if 
you  know  nothing  to  the  contrary?  Her  acquaintance  with 
Grandcourt  was  such  that  no  accomplishment  suddenly  revealed 
in  him  would  have  surprised  her.  And  he  was  so  little  suggest- 
ive of  drama,  that  it  hardly  occurred  to  her  to  think  with  any 
detail  how  his  life  of  thirty-six  years  had  been  passed :  in  gen- 
eral, she  imagined  him  always  cold  and  dignified,  not  likely  ever 
to  have  committed  himself.  He  had  hunted  the  tiger — had  he 
ever  been  in  love,  or  made  love  ?  The  one  experience  and  the 
other  seemed  alike  remote  in  Gwendolen's  fancy  from  the  Mr. 
Grandcourt  w^ho  had  come  to  Diplow  in  order,  apparently,  to 
make  a  chief  epoch  in  her  destiny — perhaps  by  introducing  her 
to  that  state  of  marriage  which  she  had  resolved  to  make  a 
state  of  greater  freedom  than  her  girlhood.  And,  on  the  whole, 
she  wished  to  marry  him ;  he  suited  her  purpose.  Her  prevail- 
ing, deliberate  intention  was,  to  accept  him. 

But  was  she  going  to  fulfill  her  deliberate  intention  ?  She 
began  to  be  afraid  of  herself,  and  to  find  out  a  certain  difficulty 
in  doing  as  she  liked.  Already  her  assertion  of  independence 
in  evading  his  advances  had  been  carried  farther  than  was  nec- 
essary, and  she  was  thinking  with  some  anxiety  what  she  might 
do  on  the  next  occasion. 

Seated,  according  to  her  habit,  with  her  back  to  the  horses 


142  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

on  tlieir  drive  homeward,  she  was  completely  under  the  obser- 
vation of  her  mamma,  who  took  the  excitement  and  changeful- 
ness  in  the  expression  of  her  eyes,  her  unwonted  absence  of 
mind  and  total  silence,  as  unmistakable  signs  that  something 
unprecedented  had  occurred  between  her  and  Grandcourt.  Mrs. 
Davilow's  uneasiness  determined  her  to  risk  some  speech  on  the 
subject :  the  Gascoignes  were  to  dine  at  Offendene,  and  in  what 
had  occurred  this  morning  there  might  be  some  reason  for  con- 
sulting the  rector;  not  that  she  expected  him  any  more  than 
herself  to  influence  Gwendolen,  but  that  her  anxious  mind 
wanted  to  be  disburdened. 

"  Something  has  happened,  dear  ?"  she  began,  in  a  tender  tone 
of  question. 

Gwendolen  looked  round,  and  seeming  to  be  roused  to  the 
consciousness  of  her  physical  self,  took  off  her  gloves  and  then 
her  hat,  that  the  so'ft  breeze  might  blow  on  her  head.  They 
were  in  a  retired  bit  of  the  road,  where  the  long  afternoon  shad- 
ows from  the  bordering  trees  fell  across  it,  and  no  observers 
were  within  sight.  Her  eyes  continued  to  meet  her  mother's, 
but  she  did  not  speak. 

"Mr.  Grandcourt  has  been  saying  something?  Tell  me, 
dear."     The  last  words  were  uttered  beseechingly. 

"  What  am  I  to  tell  you,  mamma  ?"  was  the  perverse  answer. 

"  I  am  sure  something  has  agitated  you.  You  ought  to  con- 
fide in  me,  Gwen.  You  ought  not  to  leave  me  in  doubt  and 
anxiety."     Mrs.  Davilow's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Mamma,  dear,  please  don't  be  miserable,"  said  Gwendolen, 
with  pettish  remonstrance.  "  It  only  makes  me  more  so.  I 
am  in  doubt  myself." 

"About  Mr.  Grandcourt's  intentions?"  said  Mrs.  Davilow, 
gathering  determination  from  her  alarms. 

"  No ;  not  at  all,"  said  Gwendolen,  with  some  curtness,  and  a 
pretty  little  toss  of  the  head  as  she  put  on  her  hat  again. 

"About  whether  you  will  accept  him,  then?" 

"Precisely." 

"  Have  you  given  him  a  doubtful  answer  ?" 

"  I  have  given  him  no  answer  at  all." 

"  He  has  spoken  so  that  you  could  not  misunderstand  him  ?" 

"  As  far  as  I  would  let  him  speak." 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  143 

"  You  expect  him  to  persevere?"  Mrs.  Davilow  put  tliis  ques- 
tion rather  anxiously,  and  receiving  no  answer,  asked  another. 
"  You  don't  consider  that  you  have  discouraged  him  ?" 

"  I  dare  say  not." 

"  I  thought  you  liked  him,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  tim- 
idly. 

"  So  I  do,  mamma,  as  liking  goes.  There  is  less  to  dislike 
about  him  than  about  most  men.  He  is  quiet  and  distingue.'''' 
Gwendolen  so  far  spoke  with  a  pouting  sort  of  gravity ;  but 
suddenly  she  recovered  some  of  her  mischievousness,  and  her 
face  broke  into  a  smile  as  she  added,  "  Indeed,  he  has  all  the 
qualities  that  would  make  a  husband  tolerable  —  battlement, 
veranda,  stables,  etc.,  no  grins,  and  no  glass  in  his  eye." 

"  Do  be  serious  with  me  for  a  moment,  dear.  Am  I  to  un- 
derstand that  you  mean  to  accept  him  ?" 

"  Oh  pray,  mamma,  leave  me  to  myself,"  said  Gwendolen, 
with  a  pettish  distress  in  her  voice. 

And  Mrs.  Davilow  said  no  more. 

When  they  got  home  Gwendolen  declared  that  she  would 
not  dine.  She  was  tired,  and  w^ould  come  down  in  the  evening 
after  she  had  taken  some  rest.  The  probability  that  her  uncle 
would  hear  what  had  passed  did  not  trouble  her.  She  was  con- 
vinced that  whatever  he  might  say  would  be  on  the  side  of  her 
accepting  Grandcourt,  and  she  wished  to  accept  him  if  she 
could.  At  this  moment  she  would  willingly  have  had  weights 
hung  on  her  own  caprice. 

Mr.  Gascoigne  did  hear — not  Gwendolen's  answers  repeated 
verbatim,  but  a  softened  generalized  account  of  them.  The 
mother  conveyed  as  vaguely  as  the  keen  rector's  questions 
would  let  her  the  impression  that  Gwendolen  was  in  some  un- 
certainty about  her  own  mind,  but  inclined  on  the  whole  to  ac- 
ceptance. The  result  was  that  the  uncle  felt  himself  called  on 
to  interfere :  he  did  not  conceive  that  he  should  do  his  duty 
in  withholding  direction  from  his  niece  in  a  momentous  crisis 
of  this  kind.  Mrs.  Davilow  ventured  a  hesitating  opinion  that 
perhaps  it  would  be  safer  to  say  nothing — Gwendolen  was  so 
sensitive  (she  did  not  like  to  say  willful).  But  the  rector's  was 
a  fu*m  mind,  grasping  its  first  judgments  tenaciously  and  acting 
on  them  promptly,  whence  counter -judgments  were  no  more 


144  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

for  him  than  shadows  fleeting  across  the  solid  ground  to  which 
he  adjusted  himself. 

This  match  with  Grandcourt  presented  itself  to  him  as  a  sort 
of  public  affair;  perhaps  there  were  ways  in  which  it  might 
even  strengthen  the  Establishment.  To  the  rector,  whose  fa- 
ther (nobody  would  have  suspected  it,  and  nobody  was  told) 
had  risen  to  be  a  provincial  corn-dealer,  aristocratic  heirship  re- 
sembled regal  heirship  in  excepting  its  possessor  from  the  or- 
dinary standard  of  moral  judgments.  Grandcourt,  the  almost 
certain  baronet,  the  probable  peer,  was  to  be  ranged  with  pub- 
lic personages,  and  was  a  match  to  be  accepted  on  broad  gen- 
eral grounds,  national  and  ecclesiastical.  Such  public  person- 
ages, it  is  true,  are  often  in  the  nature  of  giants  which  an  an- 
cient community  may  have  felt  pride  and  safety  in  possessing, 
though,  regarded  privately,  these  born  eminences  must  often 
have  been  inconvenient  and  even  noisome.  But  of  the  future 
husband  personally  Mr.  Gascoigne  was  disposed  to  think  the 
best.  Gossip  is  a  sort  of  smoke  that  comes  from  the  dirty  to- 
bacco-pipes of  those  who  diffuse  it :  it  proves  nothing  but  the 
bad  taste  of  the  smoker.  But  if  Grandcourt  had  really  made 
any  deeper  or  more  unfortunate  experiments  in  folly  than  were 
common  in  young  men  of  high  prospects,  he  was  of  an  age  to 
have  finished  them.  All  accounts  can  be  suitably  wound  up 
when  a  man  has  not  ruined  himself,  and  the  expense  may  be 
taken  as  an  insurance  against  future  error.  This  was  the  view 
of  practical  wisdom ;  with  reference  to  higher  views,  repentance 
had  a  supreme  moral  and  religious  value.  There  was  every 
reason  to  believe  that  a  woman  of  well-regulated  mind  would 
be  happy  with  Grandcourt. 

It  was  no  surprise  to  Gwendolen,  on  coming  down  to  tea,  to 
be  told  that  her  uncle  wished  to  see  her  in  the  dining-room.  He 
threw  aside  the  paper  as  she  entered,  and  greeted  her  with  his 
usual  kindness.  As  his  wife  had  remarked,  he  always  "  made 
much"  of  Gwendolen,  and  her  importance  had  risen  of  late. 
"  My  dear,"  he  said,  in  a  fatherly  way,  moving  a  chair  for  her 
as  he  held  her  hand,  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you  on  a  subject 
which  is  more  momentous  than  any  other  with  regard  to  your 
welfare.  You  will  guess  what  I  mean.  But  I  shall  speak  to 
you  with  perfect  directness:    in  such  matters  I  consider  my- 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  145 

self  bound  to  act  as  your  father.  You  have  no  objection,  I 
hope?" 

"  Oh  dear,  no,  uncle.  You  have  always  been  very  kind  to 
me,"  said  Gwendolen,  frankly.  This  evening  she  was  willing, 
if  it  were  possible,  to  be  a  little  fortified  against  her  trouble- 
some self,  and  her  resistant  temper  was  in  abeyance.  The  rec- 
tor's mode  of  speech  always  conveyed  a  thrill  of  authority,  as 
of  a  word  of  command ;  it  seemed  to  take  for  granted  that 
there  could  be  no  wavering  in  the  audience,  and  that  every  one 
was  going  to  be  rationally  obedient. 

"It  is  naturally  a  satisfaction  to  me  that  the  prospect  of  a 
marriage  for  you  —  advantageous  in  the  highest  degree  —  has 
presented  itself  so  early.  I  do  not  know  exactly  what  has 
passed  between  you  and  Mr.  Grandcourt,  but  I  presume  there 
can  be  little  doubt,  from  the  way  in  which  he  has  distinguished 
you,  that  he  desires  to  make  you  his  wife." 

Gwendolen  did  not  speak  immediately,  and  her  uncle  said, 
with  more  emphasis, 

"  Have  you  any  doubt  of  that  yourself,  my  dear  ?" 

"I  suppose  that  is  what  he  has  been  thinking  of.  But  he 
may  have  changed  his  mind  to-morrow^,"  said  Gwendolen. 

"  Why  to-morrow  ?  Has  he  made  advances  which  you  have 
discouraged  ?" 

"  I  think  he  meant — he  began  to  make  advances — but  I  did 
not  encourage  them.     I  turned  the  conversation." 

"  Will  you  confide  in  me  so  far  as  to  tell  me  your  reasons  ?" 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  had  any  reasons,  uncle."  Gwendolen 
laughed  rather  artificially. 

"  You  are  quite  capable  of  reflecting,  Gwendolen.  You  are 
aware  that  this  is  not  a  trivial  occasion,  and  it  concerns  your 
establishment  for  life  under  circumstances  which  may  not  oc- 
cur again.  You  have  a  duty  here  both  to  yourself  and  your 
family.  I  wish  to  understand  whether  you  have  any  ground 
for  hesitating  as  to  your  acceptance  of  Mr.  Grandcourt." 

"  I  suppose  I  hesitate  without  grounds."  Gwendolen  spoke 
rather  poutingly,  and  her  uncle  grew  suspicious. 

"  Is  he  disagreeable  to  you  personally  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Have  you  heard  any  thing  of  him  wliich  has  affected  you 

Vol.  L— 7 


146  DANIEL    DERONDa. 

disagreeably  ?"  The  rector  thouglit  it  impossible  that  Gwendo- 
len could  have  heard  the  gossip  he  had  heard,  but  in  any  case 
he  must  endeavor  to  put  all  things  in  the  right  light  for  her. 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  about  him  except  that  he  is  a  great 
match,"  said  Gwendolen,  with  some  sauciness ;  "  and  that  af- 
fects me  very  agreeably." 

"  Then,  my  dear  Gwendolen,  I  have  nothing  further  to  say 
than  this :  you  hold  your  fortune  in  your  own  hands — a  fort- 
une such  as  rarely  happens  to  a  girl  in  your  circumstances — 
a  fortune,  in  fact,  which  almost  takes  the  question  out  of  the 
range  of  mere  personal  feeling,  and  makes  your  acceptance  of 
it  a  duty.  If  Providence  offers  you  power  and  position  —  es- 
pecially when  unclogged  by  any  conditions  that  are  repugnant 
to  you  —  your  course  is  one  of  responsibility,  into  which  ca- 
price must  not  enter.  A  man  does  not  like  to  have  his  attach- 
ment trifled  with :  he  may  not  be  at  once  repelled  —  these 
things  are  matters  of  individual  disposition.^  But  the  trifling 
may  be  carried  too  far.  And  I  must  point  out  to  you  that  in 
case  Mr.  Grandcourt  were  repelled  without  your  having  refused 
him — without  your  having  intended  ultimately  to  refuse  him, 
your  situation  would  be  a  humiliating  and  painful  one.  I,  for 
my  part,  should  regard  you  with  severe  disapprobation  as  the 
victim  of  nothing  else  than  your  own  coquetry  and  folly." 

Gwendolen  became  pallid  as  she  listened  to  this  admonitory 
speech.  The  ideas  it  raised  had  the  force  of  sensations.  Her 
resistant  courage  would  not  help  her  here,  because  her  uncle 
was  not  urging  her  against  her  own  resolve ;  he  was  pressing 
upon  her  the  motives  of  dread  which  she  already  felt ;  he  was 
making  her  more  conscious  of  the  risks  that  lay  within  herself. 
She  was  silent,  and  the  rector  observed  that  he  had  produced 
some  strong  effect. 

"  I  mean  this  in  kindness,  my  dear."    His  tone  had  softened. 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,  uncle,"  said  Gwendolen,  rising  and 
shaking  her  head  back,  as  if  to  rouse  herself  out  of  painful  pas- 
sivity. "  I  am  not  foolish.  I  know  that  I  must  be  married 
some  time — before  it  is  too  late.  And  I  don't  see  how  I  could 
do  better  than  marry  Mr.  Grandcourt.  I  mean  to  accept  him, 
*if  possible."  She  felt  as  if  she  were  re-enforcing  herself  by 
speaking  with  this  decisiveness  to  her  uncle. 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  147 

But  the  rector  was  a  little  startled  by  so  bare  a  version  of 
his  own  meaning  from  those  young  lips.  He  wished  that  in 
her  mind  his  advice  should  be  taken  in  an  infusion  of  senti- 
ments proper  to  a  girl,  and  such  as  are  presupposed  in  the  ad- 
vice of  a  clergyman,  although  he  may  not  consider  them  always 
appropriate  to  be  put  forward.  He  wished  his  niece  parks, 
carriages,  a  title  —  every  thing  that  would  make  this  world  a 
pleasant  abode  ;  but  he  wished  her  not  to  be  cynical  —  to  be, 
on  the  contrary,  religiously  dutiful,  and  have  warm  domestic 
affections. 

"  My  dear  Gwendolen,"  he  said,  rising  also,  and  speaking 
with  benignant  gravity, "  I  trust  that  you  will  find  in  marriage 
a  new  fountain  of  duty  and  affection.  Marriage  is  the  only 
true  and  satisfactory  sphere  of  a  woman  ;  and  if  your  marriage 
with  Mr.  Grandcourt  should  be  happily  decided  upon,  you  will 
have  probably  an  increasing  power,  both  of  rank  and  wealth, 
which  may  be  used  for  the  benefit  of  others.  These  considera- 
tions are*  something  higher  than  romance.  You  are  fitted  by 
natural  gifts  for  a  position  which,  considering  your  birth  and 
early  prospects,  could  hardly  be  looked  forward  to  as  in  the  or- 
dinary course  of  things ;  and  I  trust  that  you  will  grace  it  not 
only  by  those  personal  gifts,  but  by  a  good  and  consistent  life." 

"I  hope  mamma  will  be  the  happier,"  said  Gwendolen,  in  a 
more  cheerful  way,  lifting  her  hands  backward  to  her  neck  and 
moving  toward  the  door.  She  wanted  to  waive  those  higher 
considerations. 

Mr.  Gascoigne  felt  that  he  had  come  to  a  satisfactory  un- 
derstanding with  his  niece,  and  had  furthered  her  happy  set- 
tlement in  life  by  furthering  her  engagement  to  Grandcourt. 
Meanwhile  there  was  another  person  to  whom  the  contempla- 
tion of  that  issue  had  been  a  motive  for  some  activity,  and 
who  believed  that  he  too,  on  this  particular  day,  had  done  some- 
thing toward  bringing  about  a  favorable  decision  in  his  sense — 
which  happened  to  be  the  reverse  of  the  rector's. 

Mr.  Lush's  absence  from  Diplow  during  Gwendolen's  visit 
had  been  due  not  to  any  fear  on  his  part  of  meeting  that  su- 
percilious young  lady,  or  of  being  abashed  by  her  frank  dislike, 
but  to  an  engagement  from  which  he  expected  important  con- 
sequences.    He  was  gone,  in  fact,  to  the  Wancester  station  to 


148  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

meet  a  lady  accompanied  by  a  maid  and  two  children,  whom 
he  put  into  a  fly,  and  afterward  followed  to  the  hotel  of  The 
Golden  Keys  in  that  town.  An  impressive  woman,  whom 
many  would  turn  to  look  at  again  in  passing :  her  figure  was 
slim  and  sufficiently  tall ;  her  face  rather  emaciated,  so  that  its 
sculpturesque  beauty  was  the  more  pronounced  ;  her  crisp  hair 
perfectly  black ;  and  her  large  anxious  eyes  also  what  we  call 
black.  Her  dress  was  soberly  correct,  her  age  perhaps  physic- 
ally more  advanced  than  the  number  of  years  would  imply,  but 
hardly  less  than  seven-and-thirty.  An  uneasy-looking  woman  : 
her  o;lance  seemed  to  presuppose  that  people  and  things  were 
going  to  be  unfavorable  to  her,  while  she  was  nevertheless  ready 
to  meet  them  with  resolution.  The  children  were  lovely — a 
dark-haired  girl  of  six  or  more,  a  fairer  boy  of  five.  When 
Lush  incautiously  expressed  some  surprise  at  her  having  brought 
the  children,  she  said,  with  a  sharp-edged  intonation, 

"  Did  you  suppose  I  should  come  wandering  about  here  by 
myself  ?     Why  should  I  not  bring  all  four  if  I  liked  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Lush,  with  his  usual  fluent  nonchalance. 

He  staid  an  hour  or  so  in  conference  with  her,  and  rode 
back  to  Diplow  in  a  state  of  mind  that  was  at  once  hopeful  and 
busily  anxious  as  to  the  execution  of  the  little  plan  on  which 
his  hopefulness  was  based.  Grandcourt's  marriage  to  Gwendo- 
len Harleth  would  not,  he  believed,  be  much  of  a  good  to  either 
of  them,  and  it  would  plainly  be  fraught  with  disagreeables  to 
himself.  But  now  he  felt  confident  enough  to  say  inwardly, 
"  I  will  take  odds  that  the  marriage  will  never  happen." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


"  I  will  not  clothe  myself  in  wreck — wear  gems 
Sawed  from  cramped  finger-bones  of  women  drowned ; 
Feel  chilly  vaporous  hands  of  ireful  ghosts 
Clutching  my  necklace ;  trick  my  maiden  breast 
With  orphans'  heritage.     Let  your  dead  love 
Marry  its  dead." 

Gwendolen  looked  lovely  and  vigorous   as   a  tall,  newly 
opened  lily  the  next  morning :  there  was  a  reaction  of  young 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  149 

« 

energy  in  her,  and  yesterday's  self -distrust  seemed  no  more 
than  the  transient  shiver  on  the  surface  of  a  full  stream.  The 
roving  archery  match  in  Cardell  Chase  was  a  delightful  pros- 
pect for  the  sport's  sake :  she  felt  herself  beforehand  moving 
about  like  a  wood-nymph  under  the  beeches  (in  appreciative 
company),  and  the  imagined  scene  lent  a  charm  to  further  ad- 
vances on  the  part  of  Grandcourt — not  an  impassioned  lyrical 
Daphnis  for  the  wood-nymph,  certainly :  but  so  much  the  bet- 
ter. To-day  Gwendolen  foresaw  him  making  slow  conversa- 
tional approaches  to  a  declaration,  and  foresaw  herself  awaiting 
and  encouraging  it  according  to  the  rational  conclusion  which 
she  had  expressed  to  her  uncle. 

When  she  came  down  to  breakfast  (after  every  one  had  left 
the  table  except  Mrs.  Davilow)  there  were  letters  on  her  plate. 
One  of  them  she  read  with  a  gathering  smile,  and  then  handed 
it  to  her  mamma,  who,  on  returning  it,  smiled  also,  finding  new 
cheerfulness  in  the  good  spirits  her  daughter  had  shown  ever 
since  waking,  and  said, 

"  You  don't  feel  inclined  to  go  a  thousand  miles  away  ?" 

"  Not  exactly  so  far." 

"  It  was  a  sad  omission  not  to  have  written  again  before  this. 
Can't  you  write  now — before  we  set  out  this  morning  ?" 

"  It  is  not  so  pressing.  To-morrow  will  do.  You  see  they 
leave  town  to-dav.  I  must  write  to  Dover.  They  will  be  there 
till  Monday." 

"  Shall  I  write  for  you,  dear — if  it  teases  you  ?" 

Gwendolen  did  not  speak  immediately,  but,  after  sipping  her 
coffee,  answered  brusquely,  "  Oh  no,  let  it  be ;  I  will  write  to- 
morrow." Then  feeling  a  touch  of  compunction,  she  looked 
up  and  said,  with  playful  tenderness,  "Dear,  old,  beautiful 
mamma  !" 

"  Old,  child,  truly." 

"  Please  don't,  mamma !  I  meant  old  for  darling.  You  are 
hardly  twenty-five  years  older  than  I  am.  AMien  you  talk  in 
that  way,  my  life  shrivels  up  before  me." 

"  One  can  have  a  great  deal  of  happiness  in  twenty-five  years, 
my  dear." 

"  I  must  lose  no  time  in  beginning,"  said  Gwendolen,  mer- 
rily.    "  The  sooner  I  get  my  palaces  and  coaches,  the  better." 


150  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

• 

"And  a  good  husband  who  adores  you,  Gwen,"  said  Mrs. 
JDavilow,  encouragingly. 

Gwendolen  put  out  her  lips  saucily,  and  said  nothing. 

It  was  a  slight  drawback  on  her  pleasure  in  starting  that  the 
rector  was  detained  by  magistrate's  business,  and  would  proba- 
bly not  be  able  to  get  to  Cardell  Chase  at  all  that  day.  She 
cared  little  that  Mrs.  Gascoigne  and  Anna  chose  not  to  go  with- 
out him,  but  her  uncle's  presence  would  have  seemed  to  make 
it  a  matter  of  course  that  the  decision  taken  would  be  acted  on. 
For  decision  in  itself  began  to  be  formidable.  Having  come 
close  to  accepting  Grandcourt,  Gwendolen  felt  this  lot  of  un- 
hoped-for fullness  rounding  itself  too  definitely  :  when  we  take 
to  wishing  a  great  deal  for  ourselves,  whatever  we  get  soon 
turns  into  mere  limitation  and  exclusion.  Still  there  was  the 
re-assuring  thought  that  marriage  would  be  the  gate  into  a 
larger  freedom. 

The  place  of  meeting  was  a  grassy  spot  called  Green  Arbor, 
where  a  bit  of  hanging  wood  made  a  sheltering  amphitheatre. 
It  was  here  that  the  coachful  of  servants  with  provisions  had' 
to  prepare  the  picnic  meal ;  and  a  warden  of  the  Chase  was  to 
guide  the  roving  archers  so  as  to  keep  them  within  the  due  dis- 
tance from  this  centre,  and  hinder  them  from  wandering  be- 
yond the  limit  which  had  been  fixed  on — a  curve  that  might 
be  drawn  through  certain  well-known  points,  such  as  the  Dou- 
ble Oak,  the  Whispering  Stones,  and  the  High  Cross.  The 
plan  was,  to  take  only  a  preliminary  stroll  before  luncheon, 
keeping  the  main  roving  expedition  for  the  more  exquisite 
lights  of  the  afternoon.  The  muster  was  rapid  enough  to  save 
every  one  from  dull  moments  of  waiting,  and  when  the  groups 
began  to  scatter  themselves  through  the  light  and  shadow  made 
here  by  closely  neighboring  beeches  and  there  by  rarer  oaks, 
one  may  suppose  that  a  painter  would  have  been  glad  to  look 
on.  This  roving  archery  was  far  prettier  than  the  stationary 
game,  but  success  in  shooting  at  variable  marks  was  less  favor- 
ed by  practice,  and  the  hits  were  distributed  among  the  volun- 
teer archers  otherwise  than  they  would  have  been  in  target- 
shooting.  From  this  cause  perhaps,  as  well  as  from  the  two- 
fold distraction  of  being  preoccupied,  and  wishing  not  to  betray 
her  preoccupation,  Gwendolen  did  not  greatly  distinguish  her- 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  151 

self  in  these  first  experiments,  unless  it  were  by  the  lively  grace 
with  which  she  took  her  comparative  failure.  She  was  in  her 
white  and  green  as  on  the  day  of  the  former  archery  meeting, 
when  it  made  an  epoch  for  her  that  she  was  introduced  to 
Grandcourt.  He  was  continually  by  her  side  now,  yet  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  tell  from  mere  looks  and  manners  that  their 
relation  to  each  other  had  at  all  changed  since  their  first  con- 
versation. Still  there  were  other  grounds  that  made  most  per- 
sons conclude  them  to  be,  if  not  engaged  already,  on  the  eve 
of  being  so.  And  she  believed  this  herself.  As  they  were  all 
returning  toward  Green  Arbor  in  divergent  groups,  not  think- 
ing at  all  of  taking  aim,  but  merely  chatting,  words  passed 
which  seemed  really  the  beginning  of  that  end — the  beginning 
of  her  acceptance.  Grandcourt  said,  "  Do  you  know  how  long 
it  is  since  I  first  saw  you  in  this  dress  ?" 

"  The  archery -meeting  was  on  the  25th,  and  this  is  the  13th," 
said  Gwendolen,  laughingly.  "  I  am  not  good  at  calculating, 
but  I  will  venture  to  say  that  it  must  be  nearly  three  weeks." 

A  little  pause,  and  then  he  said,  ''  That  is  a  great  loss  of 
time." 

"  That  your  knowing  me  has  caused  you  ?  Pray  don't  be 
uncomplimentary  :  I  don't  like  it." 

Pause  again.  "  It  is  because  of  the  gain,  that  I  feel  the 
loss." 

Here  Gwendolen  herself  left  a  pause.  She  was  thinking, 
"He  is  really  very  ingenious.  He  never  speaks  stupidly." 
Her  silence  was  so  unusual,  that  it  seemed  the  strongest  of  fa- 
vorable answers,  and  he  continued, 

"  The  gain  of  knowing  you  makes  me  feel  the  time  I  lose  in 
uncertainty.     Do  you  like  uncertainty  ?" 

"  I  think  I  do,  rather,"  said  Gwendolen,  suddenly  beaming 
on  him  with  a  playful  smile.     "  There  is  more  in  it." 

Grandcourt  met  her  laughing  eyes  with  a  slow,  steady  look 
right  into  them,  which  seemed  like  vision  in  the  abstract,  and 
said,  "  Do  you  mean  more  torment  for  me  ?" 

There  was  something  so  strange  to  Gwendolen  in  this  mo- 
ment that  she  was  quite  shaken  out  of  her  usual  self-conscious- 
ness. Blushing  and  turning  away  her  eyes,  she  said,  *'  No ; 
that  would  make  me  sorry." 


152  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Grandcourt  would  have  followed  up  this  answer,  which  the 
change  in  her  manner  made  apparently  decisive  of  her  favora- 
ble intention ;  but  he  was  not  in  any  way  overcome  so  as  to 
be  unaware  that  they  were  now,  within  sight  of  every  body, 
descending  the  slope  into  Green  Arbor,  and  descending  it  at 
an  ill-chosen  point  where  it  began  to  "be  inconveniently  steep. 
This  was  a  reason  for  offering  his  hand  in  the  literal  sense  to 
help  her ;  she  took  it,  and  they  came  down  in  silence,  much  ob- 
served by  those  already  on  the  level  —  among  others  by  Mrs. 
Arrowpoint,  who  happened  to  be  standing  with  Mrs.  Davilow. 
That  lady  had  now  made  up  her  mind  that  Grandcourt's  merits 
were  not  such  as  would  have  induced  Catherine  to  accept  him, 
Catherine  having  so  high  a  standard  as  to  have  refused  Lord 
Slogan.  Hence  she  looked  at  the  tenant  of  Diplow  with  dis- 
passionate eyes. 

"  Mr.  Grandcourt  is  not  equal  as  a  man  to  his  uncle,  Sir  Hugo 
Mallinger — too  languid.  To  be  sure,  Mr.  Grandcourt  is  a  much 
younger  man,  but  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Sir  Hugo  were  to  out- 
live him,  notwithstanding  the  diffetence  of  years.  It  is  ill  cal- 
culating on  successions,"  concluded  Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  rather  too 
loudly. 

"  It  is  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  able  to  assent  with  quiet 
cheerfulness,  for  she  was  so  well  satisfied  with  the  actual  situ- 
ation of  affairs  that  her  habitual  melancholy  in  their  general 
unsatisfactoriness  was  altogether  in  abeyance. 

I  am  not  concerned  to  tell  of  the  food  that  was  eaten  in  that 
green  refectory,  or  even  to  dwell  on  the  glories  of  the  forest 
scenery  that  spread  themselves  out  beyond  the  level  front  of 
the  hollow;  being  just  now  bound  to  tell  a  story  of  life  at  a 
stage  when  the  blissful  beauty  of  earth  and  sky  entered  only 
by  narrow  and  oblique  inlets  into  the  consciousness,  which  was 
busy  with  a  small  social  drama  almost  as  little  penetrated  by  a 
feeling  of  wider  relations  as  if  it  had  been  a  puppet-show.  It 
will  be  understood  that  the  food  and  Champagne  were  of  the 
best^ — the  talk  and  laughter  too,  in  the  sense  of  belonging  to 
the  best  society,  where  no  one  makes  an  invidious  display  of 
any  thing  in  particular,  and  the  advantages  of  the  world  are 
taken  with  that  high-bred  depreciation  which  follows  from  be- 
ing accustomed  to  them.     Some  of  the  gentlemen  strolled  a  lit- 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  153 

tie  and  indulged  in  a  cigar,  there  being  a  sufficient  interval 
before  four  o'clock  —  the  time  for  beginning  to  rove  again. 
Among  these,  strange  to  say,  was  Grandcourt;  but  not  Mr. 
Lush,  who  seemed  to  be  taking  his  pleasure  quite  generously 
to-day  by  making  himself  particularly  serviceable,  ordering  ev- 
ery thing  for  every  body,  and  by  this  activity  becoming  more 
than  ever  a  blot  on  the  scene  to  Gwendolen,  though  he  kept 
himself  amiably  aloof  from  her,  and  never  even  looked  at  her 
obviously.  When  there  was  a  general  move  to  prepare  for 
starting,  it  appeared  that  the  bows  had  all  been  put  under  the 
charge  of  Lord  Brackenshaw's  valet,  and  Mr.  Lush  was  con- 
cerned to  save  ladies  the  trouble  of  fetching  theirs  from  the 
carriage  where  they  were  propped.  He  did  not  intend  to  bring 
Gwendolen's,  but  she,  fearful  lest  he  should  do  so,  hurried  to 
fetch  it  herself.  The  valet,  seeing  her  approach,  met  her  with 
it,  and  in  giving  it  into  her  hand  gave  also  a  letter  addressed 
to  her.  She  asked  no  question  about  it,  perceived  at  a  glance 
that  the  address  was  in  a  lady's  handwriting  (of  the  delicate 
kind  which  used  to  be  esteemed  feminine  before  the  present 
uncial  period),  and,  moving  away  with  her  bow  in  her  hand, 
saw  Mr.  Lush  coming  to  fetch  other  bows.  To  avoid  meeting 
him,  she  turned  aside  and  walked  with  her  back  toward  the 
stand  of  carriages,  opening  the  letter.  It  contained  these 
words : 

*'  If  Miss  Harleth  is  in  doubt  whether  she  should  accept  Mr. 
Grandcourt,  let  her  break  from  her  party  after  they  have  passed 
the  Whispering  Stones  and  return  to  that  spot.  She  will  then 
hear  something  to  decide  her,  but  she  can  only  hear  it  by  keep- 
ing this  letter  a  strict  secret  from  every  one.  If  she  does  not 
act  according  to  this  letter,  she  will  repent,  as  the  woman  who 
writes  it  has  repented.  The  secrecy  Miss  Harleth  will  feel  her- 
self bound  in  honor  to  guard." 

Gwendolen  felt  an  inward  shock,  but  her  immediate  thought 
was,  "  It  is  come  in  time."  It  lay  in  her  youthfulness  that  she 
was  absorbed  by  the  idea  of  the  revelation  to  be  made,  and  had 
not  even  a  momentary  suspicion  of  contrivance  that  could  justi- 
fy her  in  showing  the  letter.     Her  mind  gathered  itself  up  at 


154  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

once  into  the  resolution  that  she  would  manage  to  go  unob- 
served to  the  Whispering  Stones ;  and,  thrusting  the  letter  into 
her  pocket,  she  turned  back  to  rejoin  the  company,  with  that 
sense  of  having  something  to  conceal  which  to  her  nature  had 
a  bracing  quality,  and  helped  her  to  be  mistress  of  herself. 

It  was  a  surprise  to  every  one  that  Grandcourt  was  not,  like 
the  other  smokers,  on  the  spot  in  time  to  set  out  roving  with 
the  rest.  "We  shall  alight  on  him  by -and -by,"  said  Lord 
Brackenshaw ;  "  he  can't  be  gone  far."  At  any  rate,  no  man 
could  be  waited  for.  This  apparent  forgetfulness  might  be 
taken  for  the  distraction  of  a  lover  so  absorbed  in  thinking  of 
the  beloved  object  as  to  forget  an  appointment  which  would 
bring  him  into  her  actual  presence.  And  the  good-natured 
earl  gave  Gwendolen  a  distant  jocose  hint  to  that  effect,  which 
she  took  with  suitable  quietude.  But  the  thought  in  her  own 
mind  was,  "  Can  he  too  be  starting  away  from  a  decision  ?"  It 
was  not  exactly  a  pleasant  thought  to  her ;  but  it  was  near  the 
truth.  "  Starting  away,"  however,  was  not  the  right  expres- 
sion for  the  languor  of  intention  that  came  over  Grandcourt, 
like  a  fit  of  diseased  numbness,  when  an  end  seemed  within 
easy  reach :  to  desist  then,  when  all  expectation  was  to  the 
contrary,  became  another  gratification  of  mere  will,  sublimely 
independent  of  definite  motive.  At  that  moment  he  had  be- 
gun a  second  large  cigar  in  a  vague,  hazy  obstinacy,  which,  if 
Lush  or  any  other  mortal  who  might  be  insulted  with  impunity 
had  interrupted  by  overtaking  him  with  a  request  for  his  re- 
turn, would  have  expressed  itself  by  a  slow  removal  of  his  ci- 
gar to  say,  in  an  under-tone,  "  You'll  be  kind  enough  to  go  to 
the  devil,  will  you  ?" 

But  he  was  not  interrupted,  and  the  rovers  set  off  without 
any  visible  depression  of  spirits,  leaving  behind  only  a  few  of 
the  less  vigorous  ladies,  including  Mrs.  Davilow,  who  preferred 
a  quiet  stroll  free  from  obligation  to  keep  up  with  others.  The 
enjoyment  of  the  day  was  soon  at  its  highest  pitch,  the  arch- 
ery getting  more  spirited,  and  the  changing  scenes  of  the  forest 
from  roofed  grove  to  open  glade  growing  lovelier  with  the 
lengthening  shadows,  and  the  deeply  felt  but  indefinable  grada- 
tions of  the  mellowing  afternoon.  It  was  agreed  that  they 
were  playing  an  extemporized  "  As  you  Like  It ;"  and  when  a 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  155 

pretty  compliment  had  been  tm-ned  to  Gwendolen  about  her 
having  the  part  of  Rosalind,  she  felt  the  more  compelled  to  be 
surpassing  in  liveliness.  This  was  not  very  difficult  to  her,  for 
the  effect  of  what  had  happened  to-day  was  an  excitement 
which  needed  a  vent,  a  sense  of  adventure  rather  than  alarm, 
and  a  straining  tow^ard  the  management  of  her  retreat  so  as 
not  to  be  impeded. 

The  roving  had  been  lasting  nearly  an  hour  before  the  ar- 
rival at  the  Whispering  Stones — two  tall  conical  blocks  that 
leaned  toward  each  other  like  gigantic  gray -mantled  figures. 
They  were  soon  surveyed  and  passed  by  with  the  remark  that 
they  would  be  good  ghosts  on  a  starlit  night.  But  a  soft  sun- 
light was  on  them  now,  and  Gwendolen  felt  daring.  The 
stones  were  near  a  fine  grove  of  beeches,  where  the  archers 
found  plenty  of  marks. 

"  How  far  are  we  from  Green  Arbor  now  ?"  said  Gwendolen, 
having  got  in  front  by  the  side  of  the  warden. 

"  Oh,  not  more  than  half  a  mile,  taking  along  the  avenue 
we're  going  to  cross  up  there :  but  I  shall  take  round  a  couple 
of  miles,  by  the  High  Cross." 

She  was  falling  back  among  the  rest,  when  suddenly  they 
seemed  all  to  be  hurrying  obliquely  forward  under  the  guidance 
of  Mr.  Lush,  and  lingering  a  little  where  she  w^as,  she  perceived 
her  opportunity  of  slipping  away.  Soon  she  was  out  of  sight, 
and  without  running  she  seemed  to  herself  to  fly  along  the 
ground  and  count  the  moments  nothing  till  she  found  herself 
back  again  at  the  Whispering  Stones.  They  turned  their  blank 
gray  sides  to  her :  what  was  there  on  the  other  side  ?  If  there 
were  nothing,  after  all?  That  was  her  only  dread  now  —  to 
have  to  turn  back  again  in  mystification ';  and  walking  round 
the  right-hand  stone  without  pause,  she  found  herself  in  front 
of  some  one  whose  large  dark  eyes  met  hers  at  a  foot's  dis- 
tance. In  spite  of  expectation,  she  was  startled,  and  shrunk 
back ;  but  in  doing  so  she  could  take  in  the  whole  figure  of 
this  stranger  and  perceive  that  she  was  unmistakably  a  lady, 
and  one  w  ho  must  once  have  been  exceedingly  handsome.  She 
perceived,  also,  that  a  few  yards  from  her  were  two  children 
seated  on  the  grass. 

"  Miss  Harleth  ?"  said  the  lady. 


150  DANIEL    DERONDi^i. 

"  Yes."     All  Gwendolen's  consciousness  was  wonder. 

"  Have  you  accepted  Mr.  Grandcourt  ?" 

"  No." 

"I  have  promised  to  tell  you  something.  And  you  will 
promise  to  keep  my  secret.  However  you  may  decide,  you 
will  not  tell  Mr.  Grandcourt,  or  any  one  else,  that  you  have 
seen  me  ?" 

"  I  promise." 

"  My  name  is  Lydia  Glasher.  Mr.  Grandcourt  ought  not  to 
marry  any  one  but  me.  I  left  my  husband  and  child  for  him 
nine  years  ago.  Those  two  children  are  his,  and  we  have  two 
others — girls — who  are  older.  My  husband  is  dead  now,  and 
Mr.  Grandcourt  ought  to  marry  me.  He  ought  to  make  that 
boy  his  heir." 

She  looked  toward  the  boy  as  she  spoke,  and  Gwendolen's 
eyes  followed  hers.  The  handsome  little  fellow  was  puffing 
out  his  cheeks  in  trying  to  blow  a  tiny  trumpet  which  remained 
dumb.  His  hat  hung  backward  by  a  string,  and  his  brown 
curls  caught  the  sun-rays.     He  was  a  cherub. 

The  two  women's  eyes  met  again,  and  Gwendolen  said  proud- 
ly, "  I  will  not  interfere  with  your  wishes."  She  looked  as  if 
she  were  shivering,  and  her  lips  were  pale. 

"  You  are  very  attractive,  Miss  Harleth.  But  when  he  first 
knew  me,  I  too  was  young.  Since  then  my  life  has  been 
broken  up  and  imbittered.  It  is  not  fair  that  he  should  be 
happy  and  I  miserable,  and  my  boy  thrust  out  of  sight  for  an- 
other." 

These  words  were  uttered  with  a  biting  accent,  but  with  a 
determined  abstinence  from  any  thing  vfolent  in  tone  or  man- 
ner. Gwendolen,  watching  Mrs.  Glasher's  face  while  she  spoke, 
felt  a  sort  of  terror :  it  was  as  if  some  ghastly  vision  had  come 
to  her  in  a  dream  and  said,  "  I  am  a  woman's  life." 

"  Have  you  any  thing  more  to  say  to  me  ?"  she  asked,  in  a 
low  tone,  but  still  proudly  and  coldly.  The  revulsion  within 
her  was  not  tending  to  soften  her.  Every  one  seemed  hate- 
ful. 

"Nothing.  You  know  what  I  wished  you  to  know.  You 
can  inquire  about  me,  if  you  like.  My  husband  was  Colonel 
Glasher." 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  157 

"Then  I  will  go,"  said  Gwendolen,  moving  away  with  a 
ceremonious  inclination,  which  was  returned  with  equal  grace. 

In  a  few  minutes  Gwendolen  was  in  the  beech  grove  again, 
but  her  party  had  gone  out  of  sight,  and  apparently  had  not 
sent  in  search  of  her,  for  all  w^as  solitude  till  she  had  reached 
the  avenue  pointed  out  by  the  warden.  She  determined  to 
take  this  way  back  to  Green  Arbor,  which  she  reached  quickly ; 
rapid  movements  seeming  to  her  just  now  a  means  of  suspend- 
ing the  thoughts  w^hich  might  prevent  her  from  behavino-  with 
due  calm.  She  had  already  made  up  her  mind  what  step  she 
would  take. 

Mrs.  Davilow  was  of  course  astonished  to  see  Gwendolen  re- 
turning alone,  and  was  not  without  some  uneasiness  which  the 
presence  of  other  ladies  hindered  her  from  showing.  In  answer 
to  her  words  of  surprise,  Gwendolen  said, 

"  Oh,  I  have  been  rather  silly.  I  lingered  behind  to  look  at 
the  Whispering  Stones,  and  the  rest  hurried  on  after  something, 
so  I  lost  sight  of  them.  I  thought  it  best  to  come  home  by 
the  short  way  —  the  avenue  that  the  warden  had  told  me  of. 
I'm  not  sorry,  after  all.     I  had  had  enough  walking." 

"  Your  party  did  not  meet  Mr.  Grandcourt,  I  presume,"  said 
Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  not  without  intention. 

"  No,"  said  Gwendolen,  with  a  little  flash  of  defiance  and  a 
light  laugh.  "And  we  didn't  see  any  carvings  on  the  trees 
either.  Where  can  he  be?  I  should  think  he  has  fallen  into 
the  pool  or  had  an  apoplectic  fit." 

With  all  Gwendolen's  resolve  not  to  betray  any  agitation,  she 
could  not  help  it  that  her  tone  was  unusually  high  and  hard,  and 
her  mother  felt  sure  that  something  unpropitious  had  happened. 

Mrs.  Arrowpoint  thought  that  the  self-confident  young  lady 
was  much  piqued,  and  that  Mr.  Grandcourt  was  probably  seeing 
reason  to  change  his  mind. 

"If  you  have  no  objection,  mamma,  I  will  order  the  car- 
riage," said  Gwendolen.  "  I  am  tired :  and  every  one  will  be 
going  soon." 

Mrs.  Davilow  assented  ;  but  by  the  time  the  carriage  was  an- 
nounced as  ready — the  horses  having  to  be  fetched  from  the 
stables  on  the  warden's  premises — the  roving  party  re-appeared, 
and  with  them  Mr.  Grandcourt. 


Ib8  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"Ah,  there  you  are!"  said  Lord  Brackenshaw,  going  up  to 
Gwendolen,  who  was  arranging  her  mamma's  shawl  for  the 
drive.  "  We  thought  at  first  you  had  alighted  on  Grandcourt, 
and  he  had  taken  you  home.  Lush  said  so.  But  after  that 
we  met  Grandcourt.  However,  we  didn't  suppose  you  could 
be  in  any  danger.  The  warden  said  he  had  told  you  a  near 
way  back." 

"  You  are  going  ?"  said  Grandcourt,  coming  up  with  his 
usual  air,  as  if  he  did  not  conceive  that  there  had  been  any 
omission  on  his  part.  Lord  Brackenshaw  gave  place  to  him 
and  moved  away. 

"  Yes,  we  are  going,"  said  Gwendolen,  looking  busily  at  her 
scarf,  which  she  was  arranging  across  her  shoulders  Scotch 
fashion. 

"  May  I  call  at  Offendene  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  if  you  like,"  said  Gwendolen,  sweeping  him  from 
a  distance  with  her  eyelashes.  Her  voice  was  light  and  sharp 
as  the  first  touch  of  frost. 

Mrs.  Davilow  accepted  his  arm  to  lead  her  to  the  carriage ; 
but  while  that  w^as  happening,  Gwendolen,  with  incredible 
swiftness,  had  got  in  advance  of  them  and  had  sprung  into  the 
carriage. 

"  I  got  in,  mamma,  because  I  wished  to  be  on  this  side,"  she 
said,  apologetically.  But  she  had  avoided  Grandcourt's  touch : 
he  only  lifted  his  hat  and  walked  away — with  the  not  unsatis- 
factory impression  that  she  meant  to  show  herself  offended  by 
his  neglect. 

The  mother  and  daughter  drove  for  five  minutes  in  silence. 
Then  Gwendolen  said,  "  I  intend  to  join  the  Langens  at  Dover, 
mamma.  I  shall  pack  up  immediately  on  getting  home,  and 
set  off  by  the  early  train.  I  shall  be  at  Dover  almost  as  soon 
as  they  are.     We  can  let  them  know  by  telegraph." 

"  Good  heavens,  child !  what  can  be  your  reason  for  saying 
so?" 

"'  My  reason  for  saying  it,  mamma,  is  that  I  mean  to  do  it." 

"  But  why  do  you  mean  to  do  it  ?" 

*'  I  wish  to  go  away." 

"  Is  it  because  you  are  offended  with  Mr.  Grandcourt's  odd 
behavior  in  walking  off  to-day  ?" 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  159 

"  It  is  useless  to  enter  into  such  questions.  I  am  not  goino-, 
in  any  case,  to  marry  Mr.  Grandcourt.  Don't  interest  yourself 
further  about  him." 

"  What  can  I  say  to  your  uncle,  Gwendolen  ?  Consider  the 
position  you  place  me  in.  You  led  him  to  believe  only  last 
night  that  you  had  made  up  your  mind  in  favor  of  Mr.  Grand- 
court." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  cause  you  annoyance,  mamma  dear,  but 
I  can't  help  it,"  said  Gwendolen,  with  still  harder  resistance  in 
her  tone.  "Whatever  you  or  my  uncle  may  think  or  do,  I 
shall  not  alter  my  resolve,  and  I  shall  not  tell  my  reason.  I 
don't  care  what  comes  of  it.  I  don't  care  if  I  never  marry  any 
one.  There  is  nothing  worth  caring  for.  I  believe  all  men 
are  bad,  and  I  hate  them." 

"  But  need  you  set  off  in  this  way,  Gwendolen  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Davilow,  miserable  and  helpless. 

"  Now,  mamma,  don't  interfere  with  me.  If  you  have  ever 
had  any  trouble  in  your  own  life,  remember  it,  and  don't  inter- 
fere with  me.  If  I  am  to  be  miserable,  let  it  be  by  my  own 
choice." 

The  mother  was  reduced  to  trembling  silence.  She  began 
to  see  that  the  difficulty  would  be  lessened  if  Gwendolen  went 
away. 

And  she  did  go.  The  packing  was  all  carefully  done  that 
evening,  and  not  long  after  dawn  the  next  day  Mrs.  Davilow 
accompanied  her  daughter  to  the  railway  station.  The  sweet 
dews  of  morning,  the  cows  and  horses  looking  over  the  hedges 
without  any  particular  reason,  the  early  travelers  on  foot  with 
their  bundles,  seemed  all  very  melancholy  and  purposeless  to 
them  both.  The  dingy  torpor  of  the  railway  station,  before 
the  ticket  could  be  taken,  was  still  worse.  Gwendolen  had 
certainly  hardened  in  the  last  twenty-four  hours :  her  mother's 
trouble  evidently  counted  for  little  in  her  present  state  of  mind, 
which  did  not  essentially  differ  from  the  mood  that  makes  men 
take  to  worse  conduct  when  their  belief  in  persons  or  things 
is  upset.  Gwendolen's  uncontrolled  reading,  though  consisting 
chiefly  in  what  are  called  pictures  of  life,  had  somehow  not  pre- 
pared her  for  this  encounter  with  reality.  Is  that  surprising  ? 
It  is  to  be  believed  that  attendance  at  the  opera  houffe  in  the 


160  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

present  day  would  not  leave  men's  minds  entirely  without 
shock,  if  the  manners  observed  there  with  some  applause  were 
suddenly  to  start  up  in  their  own  families.  Perspective,  as  its 
inventor  remarked,  is  a  beautiful  thing.  What  horrors  of  damp 
huts,  where  human  beings  languish,  may  not  become  pictur- 
esque through  aerial  distance !  What  hymning  of  cancerous 
vices  may  we  not  languish  over  as  sublimest  art  in  the  safe  re- 
moteness of  a  strange  language  and  artificial  phrase  !  Yet  we 
keep  a  repugnance  to  rheumatism  and  other  painful  effects 
when  presented  in  our  personal  experience. 

Mrs.  Davilow  felt  Gwendolen's  new  phase  of  indifference 
keenly,  and  as  she  drove  back  alone,  the  brightening  morning 
was  sadder  to  her  than  before. 

Mr.  Grandcourt  called  that  day  at  Offendene,  but  nobody  was 
at  home. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


'■''  Festina  lenfe — celerity  should  be  contempered  with  cunctation." — Sir 
Thomas  Browne. 

Gwendolen,  we  have  seen,  passed  her  time  abroad  in  the 
new  excitement  of  gambling,  and  in  imagining  herself  an  em- 
press of  luck,  having  brought  from  her  late  experience  a  vague 
impression  that  in  this  confused  world  it  signified  nothing  what 
people  did,  so  that  they  amused  themselves.  We  have  seen, 
too,  that  certain  persons,  mysteriously  symbolized  as  Grapnell 
&  Co.,  having  also  thought  of  reigning  in  the  realm  of  luck, 
and  being  also  bent  on  amusing  themselves,  no  matter  how, 
had  brought  about  a  painful  change  in  her  family  circumstan- 
ces ;  whence  she  had  returned  home — carrying  with  her,  against 
her  inclination,  a  necklace  which  she  had  pawned  and  some  one 
else  had  redeemed. 

While  she  was  going  back  to  England,  Grandcourt  was  com- 
ing to  find  her ;  coming,  that  is,  after  his  own  manner — not  in 
haste  by  express  straight  from  Diplow  to  Leubronn,  where  she 
was  understood  to  be ;  but  so  entirely  without  hurry  that  he 
was  induced  by  the  presence  of  some  Russian  acquaintances  to 
linger  at  Baden-Baden  and  make  various  appointments  with 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS,  IGl 

them,  which,  however,  his  desire  to  be  at  Leubronn  ultimately 
caused  him  to  break.  Grandcourt's  passions  were  of  the  inter- 
mittent, flickering  kind:  never  flaming  out  strongly.  But  a 
great  deal  of  life  goes  on  without  strong  passion :  myriads  of 
cravats  are  carefully  tied,  dinners  attended,  even  speeches  made 
proposing  the  health  of  august  personages,  without  the  zest 
arising  from  a  strong  desire.  And  a  man  may  make  a  good 
appearance  in  high  social  positions — may  be  supposed  to  know 
the  classics,  to  have  his  reserves  on  science,  a  strong  though 
repressed  opinion  on  politics,  and  all  the  sentiments  of  the  En- 
glish gentleman,  at  a  small  expense  of  vital  energy.  Also,  he 
may  be  obstinate  or  persistent  at  the  same  low  rate,  and  may 
even  show  sudden  impulses  which  have  a  false  air  of  daemonic 
strength  because  they  seem  inexplicable,  though  perhaps  their 
secret  lies  merely  in  the  w^ant  of  regulated  channels  for  the  soul 
to  move  in — good  and  sufficient  ducts  of  habit,  without  which 
our  nature  easily  turns  to  mere  ooze  and  mud,  and  at  any  press- 
ure yields  nothing  but  a  spurt  or  a  puddle. 

Grandcourt  had  not  been  altogether  displeased  by  Gwendo- 
len's running  away  from  the  splendid  chance  he  w^as  holding 
out  to  her.  The  act  had  some  piquancy  for  him.  He  liked  to 
think  that  it  was  due  to  resentment  of  his  careless  behavior  in 
Cardell  Chase,  which,  when  he  came  to  consider  it,  did  appear 
rather  cool.  To  have  brought  her  so  near  a  tender  admission, 
and  then  to  have  walked  headlong  away  from  further  opportu- 
nities of  winning  the  consent  which  he  had  made  her  under- 
stand him  to  be  asking  for,  was  enough  to  provoke  a  girl  of 
spirit ;  and  to  be  worth  his  mastering,  it  was  proper  that  she 
should  have  some  spirit.  Doubtless  she  meant  him  to  follow 
her,  and  it  was  what  he  meant  too.  But  for  a  whole  week  he 
took  no  measures  toward  starting,  and  did  not  even  inquire 
where  Miss  Harleth  was  gone.  Mr.  Lush  felt  a  triumph  that 
was  mingled  with  much  distrust;  for  Grandcourt  had  said  no 
word  to*  him  about  her,  and  looked  as  neutral  as  an  alligator : 
there  was  no  telling  what  might  turn  up  in  the  slowly  churn- 
ing chances  of  his  mind.  Still,  to  have  put  off  a  decision  was 
to  have  made  room  for  the  waste  of  Grandcourt's  energy. 

The  guests  at  Diplow  felt  more  curiosity  than  their  host. 
How  was  it  that  nothing  more  was  heard  of  Miss  Harleth? 


162  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Was  it  credible  that  she  had  refused  Mr.  Grandcourt  ?  Lady- 
Flora  Hollis,  a  lively  middle-aged  woman,  well  endowed  with 
curiosity,  felt  a  sudden  interest  in  making  a  round  of  calls  with 
Mrs.  Torrington,  including  the  rectory,  Oilendene,  and  Quetch- 
am,  and  thus  not  only  got  twice  over,  but  also  discussed  with 
the  Arrowpoints,  the  information  that  Miss  Harleth  was  gone 
to  Leubronn  with  some  old  friends,  the  Baron  and  Baroness 
von  Langen;  for  the  immediate  agitation  and  disappointment 
of  Mrs.  Davilow  and  the  Gascoignes  had  resolved  itself  into  a 
wish  that  Gwendolen's  disappearance  should  not  be  interpreted 
as  any  thing  eccentric  or  needful  to  be  kept  secret.  The  rec- 
tor's mind,  indeed,  entertained  the  possibility  that  the  marriage 
was  only  a  little  deferred,  for  Mrs.  Davilow  had  not  dared  to 
tell  him  of  the  bitter  determination  with  which  Gwendolen  had 
spoken.  And  in  spite  of  his  practical  ability,  some  of  his  ex- 
perience had  petrified  into  maxims  and  quotations.  Amaryllis, 
fleeing,  desired  that  her  hiding-place  should  be  known ;  and  that 
love  will  find  out  the  way  "over  the  mountain  and  over  the 
wave"  may  be  said  without  hyperbole  in  this  age  of  steam. 
Gwendolen,  he  conceived,  was  an  Amaryllis  of  excellent  sense 
but  coquettish  daring ;  the  question  was,  whether  she  had  dared 
too  much. 

Lady  Flora,  coming  back  charged  with  news  about  Miss 
Harleth,  saw  no  good  reason  why  she  should  not  try  whether 
she  could  electrify  Mr.  Grandcourt  by  mentioning  it  to  him  at 
table ;  and  in  doing  so  shot  a  few  hints  of  a  notion  having  got 
abroad  that  he  was  a  disappointed  adorer.  Grandcourt  heard 
with  quietude,  but  with  attention ;  and  the  next  day  he  ordered 
Lush  to  bring  about  a  decent  reason  for  breaking  up  the  party 
at  Diplow  by  the  end  of  another  week,  as  he  meant  to  go  yacht- 
ing to  the  Baltic  or  somewhere  —  it  being  impossible  to  stay 
at  Diplow  as  if  he  were  a  prisoner  on  parole,  with  a  set  of  peo- 
ple whom  he  had  never  wanted.  Lush  needed  no  clearer  an- 
nouncement that  Grandcourt  was  going  to  Leubronn ;  but  ha 
might  go  after  the  manner  of  a  creeping  billiard-ball,  and  stick 
on  the  way.  Wliat  Mr.  Lush  intended  was  to  make  himself 
indispensable,  so  that  he  might  go  too,  and  he  succeeded ;  Gwen- 
dolen's repulsion  for  him  being  a  fact  that  only  amused  his  patron, 
and  made  him  none  the  less  willing  to  have  Lush  always  at  hand 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  163 

This  was  how  it  happened  that  Grandcourt  arrived  at  The 
Czariua  on  the  fifth  day  after  Gwendolen  had  left  Leubronn, 
and  found  there  his  uncle,  Sir  Hugo  Malliuger,  with  his  family, 
including  Deronda.  It  is  not  necessarily  a  pleasure  either  to 
the  reigning  power  or  the  heir  presumptive  when  their  separate 
affairs — a  touch  of  gout,  say,  in  the  one,  and  a  touch  of  will- 
fulness 151  the  other — happen  to  bring  them  to  the  same  spot. 
Sir  Hugo  was  an  easy-tempered  man,  tolerant  both  of  differ- 
ences and  defects ;  but  a  point  of  view  different  from  his  own 
concerning  the  settlement  of  the  family  estates  fretted  him 
rather  more  than  if  it  had  concerned  church  discipline  or  the 
ballot,  and  faults  were  the  less  venial  for  belonging  to  a  person 
whose  existence  was  inconvenient  to  him.  In  no  case  could 
Grandcourt  have  been  a  nephew  after  his  own  heart ;  but  as 
the  presumptive  heir  to  the  Mallinger  estates  he  was  the  sign 
and  embodiment  of  a  chief  grievance  in  the  baronet's  life — the 
want  of  a  son  to  inherit  the  lands,  in  no  portion  of  which  had 
he  himself  more  than  a  life-interest.  For  in  the  ill-advised  set- 
tlement which  his  father,  Sir  Francis,  had  chosen  to  make  by 
will,  even  Diplow  with  its  modicum  of  land  had  been  left  under 
the  same  conditions  as  the  ancient  and  wide  inheritance  of  the 
two  Toppings — Diplow,  where  Sir  Hugo  had  lived  and  hunted 
through  many  a  season  in  his  younger  years,  and  where  his 
wife  and  daughters  ought  to  have  been  able  to  retire  after  his 
death. 

This  grievance  had  naturally  gathered  emphasis  as  the  years 
advanced,  and  Lady  Mallinger,  after  having  had  three  daughters 
in  quick  succession,  had  remained  for  eight  years,  till  now  that 
she  was  over  forty,  without  producing  so  much  as  another  girl ; 
while  Sir  Hugo,  almost  twenty  years  older,  was.  at  a  time  of 
life  when,  notwithstanding  the  fashionable  retardation  of  most 
things  from  dinners  to  marriages,  a  man's  hopefulness  is  apt  to 
show  signs  of  wear,  until  restored  by  second  childhood. 

In  fact,  he  had  begun  to  despair  of  a  son,  and  this  confirma- 
tion of  Grandcourt's  interest  in  the  estates  certainly  tended  to 
make  his  image  and  presence  the  more  unwelcome ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  carried  circumstances  which  disposed  Sir  Hugo  to 
take  care  that  the  relation  between  them  should  be  kept  as  friend- 
ly as  possible.     It  led  him  to  dwell  on  a  plan  which  had  grown 


164  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

up  side  by  side  with  his  disappointment  of  an  heir ;  namely,  to 
try  and  secure  Diplow  as  a  future  residence  for  Lady  Mallingei 
and  her  daughters,  and  keep  this  pretty  bit  of  the  family  in- 
heritance for  his  own  offspring  in  spite  of  that  disappointment. 
Such  knowledge  as  he  had  of  his  nephew's  disposition  and  af- 
fairs encouraged  the  belief  that  Grandcourt  might  consent  to  a 
transaction  by  which  he  would  get  a  good  sum  of  ready  money, 
as  an  equivalent  for  his  prospective  interest  in  the  domain  of 
Diplow  and  the  moderate  amount  of  land  attached  to  it.  If, 
after  all,  the  unhoped-for  son  should  be  born,  the  money  would 
have  been  thrown  away,  and  Grandcourt  would  have  been  paid 
for  giving  up  interests  that  had  turned  out  good  for  nothing; 
but  Sir  Hugo  set  down  this  risk  as  nil,  and  of  late  years  he  had 
husbanded  his  fortune  so  well  by  the  working  of  mines  and  the 
sale  of  leases  that  he  was  prepared  for  an  outlay. 

Here  was  an  object  that  made  him  careful  to  avoid  any  quar- 
rel with  Grandcourt.  Some  years  before,  when  he  was  making 
improvements  at  the  Abbey,  and  needed  Grandcourt's  concur- 
rence in  his  felling  an  obstructive  mass  of  timber  on  the  de- 
mesne, he  had  congratulated  himself  on  finding  that  there  was 
no  active  spite  against  him  in  his  nephew's  peculiar  mind  ;  and 
nothing  had  since  occurred  to  make  them  hate  each  other  more 
than  was  compatible  with  perfect  politeness,  or  Avith  any  ac- 
commodation that  could  be  strictly  mutual. 

Grandcourt,  on  his  side,  thought  his  uncle  a  superfluity  and 
a  bore,  and  felt  that  the  list  of  things  in  general  would  be  im- 
proved whenever  Sir  Hugo  came  to  be  expunged.  But  he  had 
been  made  aware  through  Lush,  always  a  useful  medium,  of  the 
baronet's  inclinations  concerning  Diplow,  and  he  was  gratified 
to  have  the  alternative  of  the  money  in  his  mind :  even  if  he 
had  not  thought  it  in  the  least  likely  that  he  would  choose  to 
accept  it,  his  sense  of  power  would  have  been  flattered  by  his 
being  able  to  refuse  what  Sir  Hugo  desired.  The  hinted  trans- 
action had  told  for  something  among  the  motives  which  had 
made  him  ask  for  a  year's  tenancy  of  Diplow,  which  it  had 
rather  annoyed  Sir  Hugo  to  grant,  because  the  excellent  hunt- 
ing in  the  neighborhood  might  decide  Grandcourt  not  to  part 
with  his  chance  of  future  possession  ;  a  man  who  has  two 
places,  in  one  of  which  the  hunting  is  less  good,  naturally  de- 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  165 

siring  a  third  where  it  is  better.  Also,  Lush  had  thrown  out 
to  Sir  Hugo  the  probability  that  Grandcourt  would  woo  and 
win  Miss  Arrowpoint,  and  iii  that  case  ready  money  might  be 
less  of  a  temptation  to  him.  Hence,  on  this  unexpected  meet- 
ing at  Leubronn,  the  baronet  felt  much  curiosity  to  know  how 
things  had  been  going  on  at  Diplow,  was  bent  on  being  as  civil 
as  possible  to  his  nephew,  and  looked  forward  to  some  private 
chat  with  Lush. 

Between  Deronda  and  Grandcourt  there  was  a  more  faint-, 
ly  marked  but  peculiar  relation,  depending  on  circumstances 
which  have  yet  to  be  made  known.  But  on  no  side  was  there 
any  sign  of  suppressed  chagrin  on  the  first  meeting  at  the  tahle- 
d'hote,  an  hour  after  Grandcourt's  arrival;  and  when  the  quar- 
tet of  gentlemen  afterward  met  on  the  terrace,  without  Lady 
Mallinger,  they  moved  off  together  to  saunter  through  the 
rooms,  Sir  Hugo  saying,- as  they  entered  the  large  Saal, 

"  Did  you  play  much  at  Baden,  Grandcourt  ?" 

"  Xo ;  I  looked  on  and  bet  a  little  with  some  Russians  there.**' 

"Had  you  luck?" 

"A^Tiat  did  I  win.  Lush  r 

"  You  brought  away  about  two  hundred,"  said  Lush. 

"  You  are  not  here  for  the  sake  of  the  play,  then  ?"  said  Sir 
Hugo. 

"  Xo ;  I  don't  care  about  play  now.  It's  a  confounded 
strain,"  said  Grandcourt,  whose  diamond  ring  and  demeanor,  as 
he  moved  along  playing  slightly  Avith  his  whisker,  were  being  a 
good  deal  stared  at  by  rouged  foreigners  interested  in  a  new 
milord. 

"  The  fact  is,  somebody  should  invent  a  mill  to  do  amuse- 
ments for  you,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Sir  Hugo,  "  as  the  Tar- 
tars get  their  praying  done.  But  I  agree  with  you  ;  I  never 
cared  for  play.  It's  monotonous  —  knits  the  brain  up  into 
meshes.  And  it  knocks  me  up  to  watch  it  now.  I  suppose 
one  gets  poisoned  with  the  bad  air.  I  never  stay  here  more 
than  ten  minutes.  But  where's  your  gambling  beauty,  Deron- 
da ?     Have  you  seen  her  lately  ?" 

"  She's  gone,"  said  Deronda,  curtly. 

"  An  uncommonly  fine  girl,  a  perfect  Diana,"  said  Sir  Hugo, 
turning  to  Grandcourt  again.     "  Really  worth  a  little  straining 


166  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

to  look  at  her.  I  saw  her  winning,  and  she  took  it  as  coolly  as 
if  she  had  known  it  all  beforehand.  The  same  day  Deronda 
happened  to  see  her  losing  like  wildfire,  and  she  bore  it  with 
immense  pluck.  I  suppose  she  was  cleaned  out,  or  was  wise 
enough  to  stop  in  time.     How  do  you  know  she's  gone  ?" 

"  Oh,  by  the  visitor-list,"  said  Deronda,  with  a  scarcely  per- 
ceptible shrug.  "  Vandernoodt  told  me  her  name  was  Harleth, 
and  she  was  with  the  Baron  and  Baroness  von  Langen.  I  saw 
by  the  list  that  Miss  Harleth  was  no  longer  there." 

This  held  no  further  information  for  Lush  than  that  Gwen- 
dolen had  been  gambling.  He  had  already  looked  at  the  list, 
and  ascertained  that  Gwendolen  had  gone,  but  he  had  no  in- 
tention of  thrusting  this  knowledge  on  Grandcourt  before  he 
asked  for  it ;  and  he  had  not  asked,  finding  it  enough  to  be- 
lieve that  the  object  of  search  would  turn  up  somewhere  or 
other. 

But  now  Grandcourt  had  heard  what  was  rather  piquant, 
and  not  a  word  about  Miss  Harleth  had  been  missed  by  him. 
After  a  moment's  pause,  he  said  to  Deronda, 

"  Do  you  know  those  people — the  Langens  ?" 

"  I  have  talked  with  them  a  little  since  Miss  Harleth  went 
away.     I  knew  nothing  of  them  before." 

"  Where  is  she  gone — do  you  know  ?" 

"  She  is  gone  home,"  said  Deronda,  coldly,  as  if  he  wished 
to  say  no  more.  But  then,  from  a  fresh  impulse,  he  turned  to 
look  markedly  at  Grandcourt,  and  added,  "  But  it  is  possible 
you  know  her.  Her  home  is  not  far  from  Diplow :  Offendene, 
near  Wancester." 

Deronda,  turning  to  look  straight  at  Grandcourt,  who  was  on 
his  left  hand,  might  have  been  a  subject  for  those  old  painters 
who  liked  contrasts  of  temperament.  There  was  a  calm  inten- 
sity of  life  and  richness  of  tint  in  his  face  that  on  a  sudden 
gaze  from  him  was  rather  startling,  and  often  made  him  seem 
to  have  spoken,  so  that  servants  and  officials  asked  him  automat- 
ically, "  What  did  you  say,  sir  ?"  when  he  had  been  quite  silent. 
Grandcourt  himself  felt  an  irritation,  which  he  did  not  show 
except  by  a  slight  movement  of  the  eyelids,  at  Deronda's  turn- 
ing round  on  him  when  he  was  not  asked  to  do  more  than 
speak.     But  he  answered,  with  his  usual  drawl,  "  Yes,  I  know 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  167 

her,"  and  paused  with  his  shoulder  toward  Deronda,  to  look  at 
the  gambling. 

"  What  of  her,  eh  ?"  asked  Sir  Hugo  of  Lush,  as  the  three 
moved  on  a  little  way.  "  She  must  be  a  new-comer  at  Offen- 
dene.     Old  Blenny  lived  there  after  the  dowager  died." 

"A  little  too  much  of  her,"  said  Lush,  in  a  low,  significant 
tone ;  not  sorry  to  let  Sir  Hugo  know  the  state  of  affairs. 

"Why?  how?"  said  the  baronet.  They  all  moved  out  of 
the  salon  into  a  more  airy  promenade. 

"  He  has  been  on  the  brink  of  marrying  her,"  Lush  went  on. 
"But  I  hope  it's  off  now.  She's  a  niece  of  the  clergyman — 
Gascoigne  —  at  Pennicote.  Her  mother  is  a  widow  with  a 
brood  of  daughters.  This  girl  will  have  nothing,  and  is  as 
dangerous  as  gunpowder.  It  would  be  a  foolish  marriage. 
But  she  has  taken  a  freak  against  him,  for  she  ran  off  here 
without  notice,  when  he  had  agreed  to  call  the  next  day.  The 
fact  is,  he's  here  after  her ;  but  he  was  in  no  great  hurry,  and 
between  his  caprice  and  hers  they  are  likely  enough  not  to  get 
together  again.  But  of  course  he  has  lost  his  chance  with  the 
heiress." 

Grandcourt,  joining  them,  said,  "  What  a  beastly  den  this  is ! 
— a  worse  hole  than  Baden.     I  shall  go  back  to  the  hotel." 

When  Sir  Hugo  and  Deronda  were  alone,  the  baronet  began  : 

"  Rather  a  pretty  story.  That  girl  has  some  drama  in  her. 
She  must  be  worth  running  after — has  de  Vimprevu.  I  think 
her  appearance  on  the  scene  has  bettered  my  chance  of  getting 
Diplow,  whether  the  marriage  comes  off  or  not." 

"  I  should  hope  a  maiTiage  like  that  would  not  come  off," 
said  Deronda,  in  a  tone  of  disgust. 

"  What !  are  you  a  little  touched  with  the  sublime  lash  ?" 
said  Sir  Hugo,  putting  up  his  glasses  to  help  his  short  sight  in 
looking  at  his  companion.     "Are  you  inclined  to  run  after  her  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Deronda,  "  I  should  rather  be  in- 
clined to  run  away  from  her." 

"  Why,  you  would  easily  cut  out  Grandcourt.  A  girl  with 
her  spirit  would  think  you  the  finer  match  of  the  two,"  said 
Sir  Hugo,  who  often  tried  Deronda's  patience  by  finding  a  joke 
in  impossible  advice.  (A  difference  of  taste  in  jokes  is  a  great 
strain  on  the  affections.) 


168  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  I  suppose  pedigree  and  land  belong  to  a  fine  match,"  said 
Deronda,  coldly. 

"  The  best  horse  will  win  in  spite  of  pedigree,  my  boy. 
You  remember  Napoleon's  mot — Je  suis  ancHre^^  said  Sir 
Hugo,  who  habitually  undervalued  birth,  as  men  after  dining 
well  often  agree  that  the  good  of  life  is  distributed  with  won- 
derful equality. 

^'  I  am  not  sure  that  I  want  to  be  an  ancestor,"  said  Deronda. 
"  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  the  rarest  sort  of  origination." 

"  You  won't  run  after  the  pretty  gambler,  then  ?"  said  Sir 
Hugo,  putting  down  his  glasses. 

"  Decidedly  not." 

This  answer  was  perfectly  truthful ;  nevertheless,  it  had  pass- 
ed through  Deronda's  mind  that  under  other  circumstances  he 
should  have  given  way  to  the  interest  this  girl  had  raised  in 
him,  and  tried  to  know  more  of  her.  But  his  history  had 
given  him  a  stronger  bias  in  another  direction.  He  felt  him- 
self in  no  sense  free. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  Men,  like  planets,  havg  both  a  visible  and  an  invisible  history.  The 
astronomer  threads  the  darkness  with  strict  deduction,  accounting  so  for 
every  visible  arc  in  the  wanderer's  orbit ;  and  the  narrator  of  human  ac- 
tions, if  he  did  his  work  with  the  same  completeness,  would  have  to  thread 
the  hidden  pathways  of  feeling  and  thought  which  lead  up  to  every  mo- 
ment of  action,  and  to  those  moments  of  intense  suffering  which  take  the 
quality  of  action — like  the  cry  of  Prometheus,  whose  chained  anguish  seem3 
a  greater  energy  than  the  sea  and  sky  he  invokes  and  the  deity  he  defies." 

Deronda's  circumstances,  indeed,  had  been  exceptional. 
One  moment  had  been  burned  into  his  life  as  its  chief  epoch 
— a  moment  full  of  July  sunshine  and  large  pink  roses  shed- 
ding their  last  petals  on  a  grassy  court  inclosed  on  three  sides 
by  a  Gothic  cloister.  Imagine  him  in  such  a  scene :  a  boy  of 
thirteen,  stretched  prone  on  the  grass  where  it  was  in  shadow, 
his  curly  head  propped  on  his  arms  over  a  book,  while  his  tu- 
tor, also  reading,  sat  on  a  camp-stool  under  shelter.  Deronda's 
book  was  Sismondi's  "  History  of  the  Italian  Republics :"  the 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  169 

lad  had  a  passion  for  history,  eager  to  know  how  time  had 
been  filled  up  since  the  Flood,  and  how  things  were  carried  on 
in  the  dull  periods.  Suddenly  he  let  down  his  left  arm  and 
looked  at  his  tutor,  saying,  in  purest  boyish  tones, 

"  Mr.  Fraser,  how  was  it  that  the  popes  and  cardinals  always 
had  so  many  nephews  ?" 

The  tutor,  an  able  young  Scotchman  who  acted  as  Sir  Hugo 
Mallinger's  secretary,  roused  rather  unwillingly  from  his  polit- 
ical economy,  answered  with  the  clear-cut,  emphatic  chant, 
which  makes  a  truth  doubly  telling  in  Scotch  utterance, 

"  Their  own  children  were  called  nephews." 

"Why?"  saidDeronda. 

"  It  was  just  for  the  propriety  of  the  thing ;  because,  as  you 
know  very  well,  priests  don't  marry,  and  the  children  were  ille- 
gitimate." 

Mr.  Fraser,  thrusting  out  his  lower  lip  and  making  his  chant 
of  the  last  word  the  more  emphatic  for  a  little  impatience  at 
being  interrupted,  had  already  turned  his  eyes  on  his  book 
again,  while  Deronda,  as  if  something  had  stung  him,  started 
up  in  a  sitting  attitude  with  his  back  to  the  tutor. 

He  had  always  called  Sir  Hugo  Mallinger  his  uncle,  and  when 
it  once  occurred  to  him  to  ask  about  his  father  and  mother, 
the  baronet  had  answered,  "  You  lost  your  father  and  mother 
when  you  were  quite  a  little  one ;  that  is  why  I  take  care  of 
you."  Daniel  then  straining  to  discern  something  in  that  early 
twilight,  had  a  dim  sense  of  havdng  been  kissed  very  much,  and 
surrounded  by  thin,  cloudy,  scented  drapery,  till  his  fingers 
caught  in  something  hard,  which  hurt  him,  and  he  began  to 
cry.  Every  other  memory  he  had  was  of  the  little  world  in 
which  he  still  lived.  And  at  that  time  he  did  not  mind  about 
learning  more,  for  he  was  too  fond  of  Sir  Hugo  to  be  sorry  for 
the  loss  of  unknown  parents.  Life  was  very  delightful  to  the 
lad,  with  an  uncle  who  was  always  indulgent  and  cheerful — a 
fine  man  in  the  bright  noon  of  life,  whom  Daniel  thought  ab- 
solutely perfect,  and  whose  place  was  one  of. the  finest  in  En- 
gland, at  once  historical,  romantic,  and  home-like :  a  picturesque 
architectural  outgi'owth  from  an  abbey,  which  had  still  rem-  f 
nants  of  the  old  monastic  trunk.  Diplow  lay  in  another  coun- 
ty, and  was  a  comparatively  landless  place  which  had  come  into 
Vol.  L— 8 


170  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

the  family  from  a  rich  lawyer  on  the  female  side,  who  wore  the 
peruke  of  the  Restoration ;  whereas  the  Mallingers  had  the 
grant  of  Monk's  Topping  under  Henry  the  Eighth,  and  ages 
before  had  held  the  neighboring  lands  of  King's  Topping,  tra- 
cing, indeed,  their  origin  to  a  certain  Hugues  le  Malingre,  who 
came  in  with  the  Conqueror — and  also  apparently  with  a  sickly 
complexion,  which  had  been  happily  corrected  in  his  descend- 
ants. Two  rows  of  these  descendants,  direct  and  collateral,  fe- 
males of  the  male  line,  and  males  of  the  female,  looked  down 
in  the  gallery  over  the  cloisters  on  the  nephew  Daniel  as  he 
walked  there :  men  in  armor  with  pointed  beards  and  arched 
eyebrows,  pinched  ladies  in  hoops  and  ruffs  with  no  face  to 
speak  of ;  grave-looking  men  in  bla^k  velvet  and  stuffed  hips, 
and  fair,  frightened  women  holding  little  boys  by  the  hand ; 
smiling  politicians  in  magnificent  perukes,  and  ladies  of  the 
prize-animal  kind,  with  rose-bud  mouths  and  full  eyelids,  accord- 
ing to  Lely ;  then  a  generation  whose  faces  were  revised  and 
embellished  in  the  taste  of  Kneller ;  and  so  on  through  refined 
editions  of  the  family  types  in  the  time  of  Reynolds  and  Rom- 
ney,  till  the  line  ended  with  Sir  Hugo  and  his  younger  brother 
Henleiofh.  This  last  had  married  Miss  Grandcourt,  and  taken 
her  name  along  with  her  estates ;  thus  making  a  junction  be- 
tween two  equally  old  families,  impaling  the  three  Saracens' 
heads  proper  and  three  bezants  of  the  one  with  the  tower  and 
falcons  argent  of  the  other,  and,  as  it  happened,  uniting  their 
highest  advantages  in  the  prospects  of  that  Henleigh  Mallinger 
Grandcourt  who  is  at  present  more  of  an  acquaintance  to  us 
than  either  Sir  Hugo  or  his  nephew  Daniel  Deronda. 

In  Sir  Hugo's  youthful  portrait,  with  rolled  collar  and  high 
cravat.  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  had  done  justice  to  the  agreeable 
alacrity  of  expression  and  sanguine  temperament  still  to  be  seen 
in  the  original,  but  had  done  something  more  than  justice  in 
slightly  lengthening  the  nose,  which  was  in  reality  shorter  than 
might  have  been  expected  in  a  Mallinger.  Happily  the  appro- 
priate nose  of  the  family  re-appeared  in  his  younger  brother, 
and  was  to  be  seen  in  all  its  refined  regularity  in  his  nephew 
Mallinger  Grandcourt.  But  in  the  nephew  Daniel  Deronda  the 
family  faces  of  various  types,  seen  on  the  walls  of  the  gallery, 
found  no  reflex.     Still,  he  was  handsomer  than  any  of  them, 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  171 

and  when  he  was  thirteen  might  have  served  as  model  for  any 
painter  who  wanted  to  image  the  most  memorable  of  boys: 
you  could  hardly  have  seen  his  face  thoroughly  meeting  yours 
without  believing  that  human  creatures  had  done  nobly  in 
times  past,  and  might  do  more  nobly  in  time  to  come.  The 
finest  child-like  faces  have  this  consecrating  power,  and  make 
us  shudder  anew  at  all  the  grossness  and  basely  wrought  griefs 
of  the  world,  lest  they  should  enter  here  and  defile. 

But  at  this  moment,  on  the  grass  among  the  rose-petals,  Dan- 
iel Deronda  was  making  a  first  acquaintance  with  those  griefs. 
A  new  idea  had  entered  his  mind,  and  was  beginning  to  change 
the  aspect  of  his  habitual  feelings  as  happy,  careless  voyagers 
are  changed  when  the  sky  suddenly  threatens  and  the  thought 
of  danger  arises.  He  sat  perfectly  still  with  his  back  to  the 
tutor,  while  his*  face  expressed  rapid  inward  transition.  The 
deep  blush,  which  had  come  when  he  first  started  up,  gradually 
subsided ;  but  his  features  kept  that  indescribable  look  of  sub- 
dued activity  which  often  accompanies  a  new  mental  survey  of 
familiar  facts.  He  had  not  lived  with  other  boys,  and  his 
mind  showed  the  same  blending  of  child's  ignorance  with  sur- 
prising knowledge  which  is  oftener  seen  in  bright  girls.  Hav- 
ing read  Shakspeare  as  well  as  a  great  deal  of  history,  he  could 
have  talked  with  the  wisdom  of  a  bookish  child  about  men  who 
were  born  out  of  wedlock  and  were  held  unfortunate  in  conse- 
quence, being  under  disadvantages  which  required  them  to  be 
a  sort  of  heroes,  if  they  were  to  work  themselves  up  to  an  equal 
standing  with  their  legally  born  brothers.  But  he  had  never 
brought  such  knowledge  into  any  association  with  his  own  lot, 
which  had  been  too  easy  for  him  ever  to  think  about  it,  until 
this  moment,  when  there  had  darted  into  his  mind,  with  the 
magic  of  quick  comparison,  the  possibility  that  here  was  the 
secret  of  his  own  birth,  and  that  the  man  whom  he  called  un- 
cle was  really  his  father.  Some  children,  even  younger  than 
Daniel,  have  known  the  first  arrival  of  care,  like  an  ominous 
irremovable  guest,  in  their  tender  lives,  on  the  discovery  that 
their  parents,  whom  they  had  imagined  able  to  buy  every  thinjr, 
were  poor  and  in  hard  money  troubles.  Daniel  felt  the  pres- 
ence of  a  new  guest  who  seemed  to  come  with  an  enigmatic 
veiled  face,  and  to  carry  dimly  conjectured,  dreaded  revelationa. 


172  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

The  ardor  whicli  lie  had  given  to  the  imaginary  world  in  his 
books  suddenly  rushed  toward  his  own  history,  and  spent  its 
pictorial  energy  there,  explaining  what  he  knew,  representing 
the  unknown.  The  uncle  whom  he  loved  very  dearly  took  the 
aspect  of  a  father  who  held  secrets  about  him — who  had  done 
him  a  wrong  —  yes,  a  wrong:  and  what  had  become  of  his 
mother,  from  whom  he  must  have  been  taken  away  ? — secrets 
about  which  he,  Daniel,  could  never  inquire ;  for  to  speak  or 
be  spoken  to  about  these  new  thoughts  seemed  like  falling 
flakes  of  fire  to  his  imagination.  Those  who  have  known  an 
impassioned  childhood  wOl  understand  this  dread  of  utterance 
about  any  shame  connected  with  their  parents.  The  impetu- 
ous advent  of  new  images  took  possession  of  him  with  the  force 
of  fact  for  the  first  time  told,  and  left  him  no  immediate  pow- 
er for  the  reflection  that  he  might  be  trembling  at  a  fiction  of 
his  own.  The  terrible  sense  of  collision  between  a  strong  rush 
of  feeling  and  the  dread  of  its  betrayal  found  relief  at  length 
in  big  slow  tears,  which  fell  without  restraint  until  the  voice  of 
Mr.  Fraser  was  heard  saying, 

"  Daniel,  do  you  see  that  you  are  sitting  on  the  bent  pages 
of  your  book  ?" 

Daniel  immediately  moved  the  book  without  turning  round, 
and  after  holding  it  before  him  for  an  instant,  rose  with  it,  and 
walked  away  into  the  open  grounds,  where  he  could  dry  his 
tears  unobserved.  The  first  shock  of  suggestion  past,  he  could 
remember  that  he  had  no  certainty  how  things  really  had  been, 
and  that  he  had  been  making  conjectures  about  his  own  histo- 
ry, as  he  had  often  made  stories  about  Pericles  or  Columbus, 
just  to  fill  up  the  blanks  before  they  became  famous.  Only 
there  came  back  certain  facts  which  had  an  obstinate  reality — 
almost  like  the  fragments  of  a  bridge,  telling  you  unmistakably 
how  the  arches  lay.  And  again  there  came  a  mood  in  which 
his  conjectures  seemed  like  a  doubt  of  religion,  to  be  banished 
as  an  ofiense,  and  a  mean  prying  after  what  he  was  not  meant 
to  know ;  for  there  was  hardly  a  delicacy  of  feeling  this  lad 
was  not  capable  of.  But  the  summing  up  all  his  fluctuating 
experience  at  this  epoch  was,  that  a  secret  impression  had  come 
to  him  which  had  given  him  something  like  a  new  sense  in  re- 
lation to  all  the  elements  of  his  life.     And  the  idea  that  others 


BOOK    II.— ^MEETING    STREAMS.  1Y3 

probably  knew  things  concerning  him  wbicli  they  did  not 
choose  to  mention,  and  which  he  would  not  have  had  them 
mention,  set  up  in  him  a  premature  reserve  which  helped  to 
intensify  his  inward  experience.  His  ears  were  open  now  to . 
words  which  before  that  July  day  would  have  passed  by  him 
unnoted;  and  round  every  trivial  incident  which  imagination 
could  connect  with  his  suspicions,  a  newly  roused  set  of  feelings 
were  ready  to  cluster  themselves. 

One  such  incident,  a  month  later,  wrought  itself  deeply  into 
his  life.  Daniel  had  not  only  one  of  those  thrilling  boy-voices 
which  seem  to  bring  an  idyllic  heaven  and  earth  before  our 
eyes,  but  a  fine  musical  instinct,  and  had  early  made  out  ac- 
companiments for  himself  on  the  piano,  while  he  sung  from 
memory.  Since  then  he  had  had  some  teaching,  and  Sir  Hugo, 
who  delighted  in  the  boy,  used  to  ask  for  his  music  in  the  pres- 
ence of  guests.  One  morning  after  he  had  been  singing 
"  Sweet  Echo  "  before  a  small  party  of  gentlemen  whom  the 
rain  had  kept  in  the  house,  the  baronet,  passing  from  a  smiling 
remark  to  his  next  neighbor,  said, 

1'  Come  here,  Dan  !" 

The  boy  came  forward  with  unusual  reluctance.  He  wore 
an  embroidered  holland  blouse,  which  set  off  the  rich  color- 
ing of  his  head  and  throat;  and  the  resistant  gravity  about 
his  mouth  and  eyes,  as  he  was  being  smiled  upon,  made 
their  beauty  the  more  impressive.  Every  one  was  admiring 
him. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  being  a  great  singer  ?  Should  you 
like  to  be  adored  by  the  world  and  take  the  house  by  storm, 
like  Mario  and  Tamberlik  ?■' 

Daniel  reddened  instantaneously,  but  there  was  a  just  per- 
ceptible interval  before  he  answered,  with  angry  decision, 

"No;  I  should  hate  it !" 

"  Well,  well,  well !"  said  Sir  Hugo,  with  surprised  kindliness 
intended  to  be  soothing.  But  Daniel  turned  away  quickly, 
left  the  room,  and,  going  to  his  own  chamber,  threw  himself  on 
the  broad  window-sill,  which  was  a  favorite  retreat  of  his  when 
he  had  nothing  particular  to  do.  Here  he  could  see  the  rain 
gradually  subsiding  with  gleams  through  the  parting  clouds 
which  lighted  up  a  great  reach  of  the  park,  where  the  old  oaks 


174  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

stood  apart  from  each  other,  and  the  bordering  wood  was 
pierced  with  a  green  glade  which  met  the  eastern  sky.  This 
was  a  scene  which  had  always  been  part  of  his  home — part  of 
the  dignified  ease  which  had  been  a  matter  of  course  in  his 
life.  And  his  ardent,  clinging  nature  had  appropriated  it  all 
with  affection.  He  knew  a  great  deal  of  what  it  was  to  be  a 
gentleman  by  inheritance,  and,  without  thinking  much  about 
himself — for  he  was  a  boy  of  active  perceptions,  and  easily  for- 
got his  own  existence  in  that  of  Robert  Bruce — he  had  never 
supposed  that  he  could  be  shut  out  from  such  a  lot,  or  have  a 
very  different  part  in  the  world  from  that  of  the  uncle  who 
petted  him.  It  is  possible  (though  not  greatly  believed  in  at 
present)  to  be  fond  of  poverty  and  take  it  for  a  bride ;  to  pre- 
fer scoured  deal,  red  quarries,  and  whitewash  for  one's  private 
surroundings;  to  delight  in  no  splendor  but  what  has  open 
doors  for  the  whole  nation,  and  to  glory  in  having  no  privilege 
except  such  as  nature  insists  on;  and  noblemen  have  been 
known  to  run  away  from  elaborate  ease  and  the  option  of  idle- 
ness, that  they  might  bind  themselves  for  small  pay  to  hard- 
handed  labor.  But  Daniel's  tastes  were  altogether  in  keeping 
with  his  nurture :  his  disposition  was  one  in  which  every-day 
scenes  and  habits  beget  not  ennui  or  rebellion,  but  delight,  af- 
fection, aptitudes ;  and  now  the  lad  had  been  stung  to  the 
quick  by  the  idea  that  his  uncle — perhaps  his  father — thought 
of  a  career  for  him  which  was  totally  unlike  his  own,  and  which 
he  knew  very  well  was  not  thought  of  among  possible  destina- 
tions for  the  sons  of  English  gentlemen.  He  had  often  staid 
in  London  with  Sir  Hugo,  who,  to  indulge  the  boy's  ear,  had 
carried  him  to  the  opera  to  hear  the  great  tenors,  so  that  the 
image  of  a  singer  taking  the  house  by  storm  was  very  vivid  to 
him ;  but  now,  spite  of  his  musical  gift,  he  set  himself  bitterly 
against  the  notion  of  being  dressed  up  to  sing  before  all  those 
fine  people,  who  would  not  care  about  him  except  as  a  wonder- 
ful toy.  That  Sir  Hugo  should  have  thought  of  him  in  that 
position  for  a  moment,  seemed  to  Daniel  an  unmistakable  proof 
that  there  was  something  about  his  birth  which  threw  him  out 
from  the  class  of  gentlemen  to  which  the  baronet  belonged. 
Would  it  ever  be  mentioned  to  him  ?  Would  the  time  come 
when  his  uncle  would  tell  him  every  thing  ?     He  shrunk  from 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  l75 

the  prospect:  in  his  imagination  he  preferred  ignorance.  If 
his  father  had  been  wicked  —  Daniel  inwardly  used  strong 
words,  for  he  was  feeling  the  injury  done  him  as  a  maimed  boy 
feels  the  crushed  limb  which  for  others  is  merely  reckoned  in 
an  average  of  accidents — if  his  father  had  done  any  wrong,  he 
wished  it  might  never  be  spoken  of  to  him :  it  was  already  a 
cutting  thought  that  such  knowledge  might  be  in  other  minds. 
Was  it  in  Mr.  Eraser's  ?  probably  not,  else  he  would  not  have 
spoken  in  that  way  about  the  pope's  nephews :  Daniel  fancied, 
as  older  people  do,  that  every  one  else's  consciousness  was  as 
active  as  his  own  on  a  matter  which  was  vital  to  him.  Did 
Turvey,  the  valet,  know  ? — and  old  Mrs.  French,  the  housekeep- 
er ? — and  Banks,  the  bailiff,  with  w  horn  he  had  ridden  about  the 
farms  on  his  pony  ?  And  now  there  came  back  the  recollection 
of  a  day  some  years  before  when  he  was  drinking  Mrs.  Banks's 
whey,  and  Banks  said  to  his  wife,  with  a  wink  and  a  cunning 
laugh,  "He  features  the  mother,  eh?"  At  that  time  little 
Daniel  had  merely  thought  that  Banks  made  a  silly  face,  as  the 
common  farming  men  often  did  —  laughing  at  what  was  not 
laughable ;  and  he  rather  resented  being  winked  at  and  talked 
of  as  if  he  did  not  understand  every  thing.  But  now  that 
small  incident  became  information :  it  was  to  be  reasoned  on. 
How  could  he  be  like  his  mother  and  not  like  his  father?  His 
mother  must  have  been  a  Mallinger,  if  Sir  Hugo  were  his  uncle. 
But  no !  His  father  might  have  been  Sir  Hugo's  brother  and 
have  changed  his  name,  as  Mr.  Henleigh  Mallinger  did  when  he 
married  Miss  Grandcourt.  But  then,  why  had  he  never  heard 
Sir  Hugo  speak  of  his  brother  Deronda,  as  he  spoke  of  his 
brother  Grandcourt  ?  Daniel  had  never  before  cared  about  the 
family  tree  —  only  about  that  ancestor  who  had  killed  three 
Saracens  in  one  encounter.  But  now  his  mind  turned  to  a 
cabinet  of  estate-maps  in  the  library,  where  he  had  once  seen 
an  illuminated  parchment  hanging  out,  that  Sir  Hugo  said  was 
the  family  tree.  The  phrase  was  new  and  odd  to  him — he  was 
a  little  fellow  then,  hardly  more  than  half  his  present  age — 
and  he  gave  it  no  precise  meaning.  He  knew  more  now,  and 
w^ished  that  he  could  e'xamine  that  parchment.  He  imagined 
that  the  cabinet  was  always  locked,  and  longed  to  try  it.  But 
here  he  checked  himself.     He  might  be  seen ;  and  he  would 


176  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

never  bring  himself  near  even  a  silent  admission  of  Xhe  sore 
that  had  opened  in  him. 

It  is  in  such  experiences  of  boyhood  or  girlhood,  while  elders 
are  debating  whether  most  education  lies  in  science  or  literature, 
that  the  main  lines  of  character  are  often  laid  down.  If  Dan- 
iel had  been  of  a  less  ardently  affectionate  nature,  the  reserve 
about  himself,  and  the  supposition  that  others  had  something 
to  his  disadvantage  in  their  minds,  might  have  turned  into  a 
hard,  proud  antagonism.  But  inborn  lovingness  was  strong 
enough  to  keep  itself  level  with  resentment.  There  was  hard- 
ly any  creature  in  his  habitual  world  that  he  was  not  fond  of ; 
teasing  them  occasionally,  of  course  —  all  except  his  uncle,  or 
"  nunc,"  as  Sir  Hugo  had  taught  him  to  say  ;  for  the  baronet 
was  the  reverse  of  a  strait-laced  man,  and  left  his  dignity  to 
take  care  of  itself.  Him  Daniel  loved  in  that  deep-rooted  filial 
way  which  makes  children  always  the  happier  for  being  in  the 
same  room  with  father  or  mother,  though  their  occupations 
may  be  quite  apart.  Sir  Hugo's  watch-chain  and  seals,  his 
handwriting,  his  mode  of  smoking  and  of  talking  to  his  dogs 
and  horses,  had  all  a  rightness  and  charm  about  them  to  the 
boy  which  went  along  with  the  happiness  of  morning  and 
breakfast-time.  That  Sir  Hugo  had  always  been  a  Whig,  made 
Tories  and  Radicals  equally  opponents  of  the  truest  and  best ; 
and  the  books  he  had  written  were  all  seen  under  the  same 
consecration  of  loving  belief  which  differenced  what  was  his 
from  -vyhat  was  not  his,  in  spite  of  general  resemblance.  Those 
writings  were  various,  from'  volumes  of  travel  in  the  brilliant 
style,  to  articles  on  things  in  general,  and  pamphlets  on  politic- 
al crises ;  but  to  Daniel  they  were  alike  in  having  an  unques- 
tionable rightness  by  which  other  people's  information  could 
be  tested. 

Who  can  not  imagine  the  bitterness  of  a  first  suspicion  that 
something  in  this  object  of  complete  love  was  not  quite  right  ? 
Children  demand  that  their  heroes  should  be  fleckless,  and  eas- 
ily believe  them  so  :  perhaps  a  first  discovery  to  the  contrary  is 
hardly  a  less  revolutionary  shock  to  a  passionate  child  than  the 
threatened  downfall  of  habitual  beliefs  which  makes  the  world 
seem  to  totter  for  us  in  maturer  life. 

But  some  time  after  this  renewal  of  Daniel's  agitation  it  ap- 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  177 

peared  that  Sir  Hugo  must  have  been  making  a  merely  playful 
experiment  in  his  question  about  the  singing.  He  sent  for 
Daniel  into  the  library,  and  looking  up  from  his  writing  as  the 
boy  entered,  threw  himself  sideways  in  his  arm-chair.  "Ah, 
Dan !"  he  said,  kindly,  drawing  one  of  the  old  embroidered 
stools  close  to  him.     "  Come  and  sit  down  here." 

Daniel  obeyed,  and  Sir  Hugo  put  a  gentle  hand  on  his  shoul- 
der, looking  at  him  affectionately. 

"  What  is  it,  my  boy  ?  Have  you  heard  any  thing  that  has 
put  you  out  of  spirits  lately  ?" 

Daniel  was  determined  not  to  let  the  tears  come,  but  he 
could  not  speak. 

"All  changes  are  painful  when  people  have  been  happy, 
you  know,"  said  Sir  Hugo,  lifting  his  hand  from  the  boy's 
shoulder  to  his  dark  curls,  and  rubbing  them  gently.  "You 
can't  be  educated  exactly  as  I  wish  you  to  be  without  our 
parting.  And  I  think  you  will  find  a  great  deal  to  like  at 
school." 

This  was  not  what  Daniel  expected,  and  was  so  far  a  relief, 
which  gave  him  spirit  to  answer. 

"Am  I  to  go  to  school  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  mean  you  to  go  to  Eton.  I  wish  you  to  have  the 
education  of  an  English  gentleman ;  and  for  that  it  is  necessary 
that  you  should  go  to  a  public  school  in  preparation  for  the 
university :  Cambridge  I  mean  you  to  go  to  ;  it  was  my  own 
university." 

Daniel's  color  came  and  went. 

"  What  do  you  say,  sirrah  ?"  said  Sir  Hugo,  smiling. 

"  I  should  like  to  be  a  gentleman,"  said  Daniel,  with  firm 
distinctness,  "  and  go  to  school,  if  that  is  what  a  gentleman's 
son  must  do." 

Sir  Hugo  watched  him  silently  for  a  few  moments,  thinking 
he  understood  now  why  the  lad  had  seemed  angry  at  the  no- 
tion of  becoming  a  singer.     Then  he  said,  tenderly, 

"And  so  you  won't  mind  about  leaving  your  old  nunc  ?' 

"Yes,  I  shall,"  said  Daniel,  clasping  Sir  Hugo's  caressing 
arm  with  both  his  hands.  "  But  sha'n't  I  come  home  and  be 
with  you  in  the  holidays  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  generally,"  said  Sir  Hugo.     "  But  now  I  mean  you 

8* 


178  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

to  go  at  once  to  a  new  tutor,  to  break  the  change  for  you  be- 
fore you  go  to  Eton." 

After  this  interview  Daniel's  spirit  rose  again.  He  was 
meant  to  be  a  gentleman,  and  in  some  unaccountable  way  it 
might  be  that  his  conjectures  were  all  wrong.  The  very  keen- 
ness of  the  lad  taught  him  to  find  comfort  in  his  ignorance. 
While  he  was  busying  his  mind  in  the  construction  of  possi- 
bilities, it  became  plain  to  him  that  there  must  be  possibilities 
of  which  he  knew  nothing.  He  left  off  brooding,  young  joy 
and  the  spirit  of  adventure  not  being  easily  quenched  within 
him ;  and  in  the  interval  before  his  going  away  he  sung  about 
the  house,  danced  among  the  old  servants,  making  them  parting 
gifts,  and  insisted  many  times  to  the  groom  on  the  care  that 
was  to  be  taken  of  the  black  pony. 

"  Do  you  think  I  shall  know  much  less  than  the  other  boys, 
Mr.  Fraser  ?"  said  Daniel.  It  was  his  bent  to  think  that  every 
stranger  would  be  surprised  at  his  ignorance. 

"  There  are  dunces  to  be  found  everywhere,"  said  the  judi- 
cious Fraser.  "  You'll  not  be  the  biggest ;  but  you've  not  the 
makings  of  a  Porson  in  you,  or  a  Leibnitz  either." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  a  Porson  or  a  Leibnitz,"  said  Daniel. 
"  I  would  rather  be  a  greater  leader,  like  Pericles  or  Washing- 
ton." 

"Ay,  ay;  you've  a  notion  they  did  with  little  parsing,  and 
less  algebra,"  said  Fraser.  But  in  reality  he  thought  his  pupil 
a  remarkable  lad,  to  whom  one  thing  was  as  easy  as  another,  if 
he  had  only  a  mind  to  it. 

Things  went  very  well  with  Daniel  in  his  new  world,  except 
that  a  boy  with  whom  he  was  at  once  inclined  to  strike  up  a 
close  friendship  talked  to  him  a  great  deal  about  his  home  and 
parents,  and  seemed  to  expect  a  like  expansiveness  in  return. 
Daniel  immediately  shrunk  into  reserve,  and  this  experience  re- 
mained a  check  on  his  "iiaturally  strong  bent  toward  the  foniia- 
tion  of  intimate  friendships.  Every  one,  his  tutor  included,  set 
him  down  as  a  reserved  boy,  though  he  was  so  good-humored 
and  unassuming,  as  well  as  quick  both  at  study  and  sport,  that 
nobody  called  his  reserve  disagreeable.  Certainly  his  face  had 
a  great  deal  to  do  with  that  favorable  interpretation ;  but  in 
this  instance  the  beauty  of  the  closed  lips  told  no  falsehood. 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  179 

A  surprise  that  came  to  liim  before  his  first  vacation  strength- 
ened the  silent  consciousness  of  a  grief  within,  which  might  be 
compared  in  some  ways  with  Byron's  susceptibiUty  about  his 
deformed  foot.  Sir  Hugo  wrote  word  that  he  was  married  to 
Miss  Ra}Tnond,  a  sweet  lady  whom  Daniel  must  remember  hav- 
ing seen.  The  event  would  make  no  difference  about  his  spend- 
ing the  vacation  at  the  Abbey ;  he  would  find  Lady  Mallinger  a 
new  friend  whom  he  would  be  sure  to  love — and  much  more  to 
the  "usual  effect  when  a  man,  having  done  something  agreeable 
to  himself,  is  disposed  to  congratulate  others  on  his  own  good 
fortune,  and  the  deducible  satisfactoriness  of  events  in  general. 

Let  Sir  Hugo  be  partly  excused  until  the  grounds  of  his  ac- 
tion can  be  more  fully  known.  The  mistakes  in  his  behavior 
to  Deronda  were  due  to  that  dullness  toward  what  may  be  go- 
ing on  in  other  minds,  especially  the  minds  of  childi'en,  which 
is  among  the  commonest  deficiencies  even  in  good-natured  men 
like  him,  when  life  has  been  generally  easy  to  themselves,  and 
their  energies  have  been  quietly  spent  in  feeling  gratified.  No 
one  was  better  aware  than  he  that  Daniel  w^as  generally  suspect- 
ed to  be  his  own  son.  But  he  was  pleased  with  that  suspicion  ; 
and  his  imagination  had  never  once  been  troubled  with  the  way 
in  which  the  boy  himself  might  be  affected,  either  then  or  in 
the  future,  by  the  enigmatic  aspect  of  his  circumstances.  He 
was  as  fond  of  him  as  could  be,  and  meant  the  best  by  him. 
And  considering  the  lightness  with  which  the  preparation  of 
young  lives  seems  to  lie  on  respectable  consciences.  Sir  Hugo 
Mallinger  can  hardly  be  held  open  to  exceptional  reproach. 
He  had  been  a  bachelor  till  he  was  five-and-forty,  had  always 
been  regarded  as  a  fascinating  man  of  elegant  tastes;  what 
could  be  more  natural,  even  according  to  the  index  of  language, 
than  that  he  should  have  a  beautiful  boy  like  the  little  Deronda 
to  take  care  of  ?  The  mother  might  even,  perhaps,  be  in  the 
great  world — met  with  in  Sir  Hugo's  residences  abroad.  The 
only  person  to  feel  any  objection  was  the  boy  himself,  Avho 
could  not  have  been  consulted.  And  the  boy's  objections  had 
never  been  dreamed  of  by  any  body  but  himself. 

By  the  time  Deronda  was  ready  to  go  to  Cambridge,  Lady 
Mallinger  had  already  three  daughters  —  charming  babies,  all 
three,  but  whose  sex  was  announced  as  a  melancholy  alterna- 


180  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

tive,  the  offspring  desired  being  a  son :  if  Sir  Hugo  had  no  son, 
the  succession  must  go  to  his  nephev/,  MaUinger  Grandcourt. 
Daniel  no  longer  held  a  wavering  opinion  about  his  own  birth. 
His  fuller  knowledge  had  tended  to  convince  him  that  Sir  Hugo 
was  his  father,  and  he  conceived  that  the  baronet,  since  he  nev- 
er approached  a  communication  on  the  subject,  wished  him  to 
have  a  tacit  understanding  of  the  fact,  and  to  accept  in  silence 
what  would  be  generally  considered  more  than  the  due  love  and 
nurture.  Sir  Hugo's  marriage  might  certainly  have  been  felt 
as  a  new  ground  of  resentment  by  some  youths  in  Deronda's 
position,  and  the  timid  Lady  Mallinger  with  her  fast-coming  lit- 
tle ones  might  have  been  images  to  scowl  at,  as  likely  to  divert 
much  that  was  disposable  in  the  feelings  and  possessions  of  the 
baronet  from  one  who  felt  his  own  claim  to  be  prior.  But  ha- 
tred of  innocent  human  obstacles  was  a  form  of  moral  stupidity 
not  in  Deronda's  grain ;  even  the  indignation  which  had  long 
mingled  itself  with  his  affection  for  Sir  Hugo  took  the  quality 
of  pain  rather  than  of  temper ;  and  as  his  mind  ripened  to  the 
idea  of  tolerance  toward  error,  he  habitually  linked  the  idea 
with  his  own  silent  grievances. 

The  sense  of  an  entailed  disadvantage — the  deformed  foot 
doubtfully  hidden  by  the  shoe,  makes  a  restlessly  active  spiritu- 
al yeast,  and  easily  turns  a  self-centred,  unloving  nature  into  an 
Ishmaelite.  But  in  the  rarer  sort,  who  presently  see  their  own 
frustrated  claim  as  one  among  a  myriad,  the  inexorable  sorrow 
takes  the  form  of  fellowship  and  makes  the  imagination  tender. 
Deronda's  early  wakened  susceptibility,  charged  at  first  with 
ready  indignation  and  resistant  pride,  had  raised  in  him  a  pre- 
mature reflection  on  certain  questions  of  life ;  it  had  given  a  bias 
to  his  conscience,  a  sympathy  with  certain  ills,  and  a  tension  of 
resolve  in  certain  directiohs,  which  marked  him  off  from  other 
youths  much  more  than  any  talents  he  possessed. 

One  day  near  the  end  of  the  Long  Vacation,  when  he  had 
been  making  a  tour  in  the  Rhineland  with  his  Eton  tutor,  and 
was  come  for  a  farewell  stay  at  the  Abbey  before  going  to 
Cambridge,  he  said  to  Sir  Hugo, 

"  What  do  you  intend  me  to  be,  sir  ?"  They  were  in  the 
library,  and  it  was  the  fresh  morning.  Sir  Hugo  had  called 
him  in  to  read  a  lettei"  froin  a  Cambridge  don  who  was  to  be 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  181 

interested  in  him ;  and  since  the  baronet  wore  an  air  at  once 
business-like  and  leisurely,  the  moment  seemed  propitious  for 
entering  on  a  grave  subject  which  had  never  yet  been  thorough- 
ly discussed. 

"  Whatever  your  inclination  leads  you  to,  my  boy.  I 
thought  it  right  to  give  you  the  option  of  the  army,  but  you 
shut  the  door  on  that,  and  I  was  glad.  I  don't  expect  you  to 
choose  just  yet — by-and-by,  when  you  have  looked  about  you 
a  little  more  and  tried  your  mettle  among  older  men.  The 
university  has  a  good  wide  opening  into  the  forum.  There  are 
prizes  to  be  won,  and  a  bit  of  good  fortune  often  gives  the 
turn  to  a  man's  taste.  From  what  I  see  and  hear,  I  should 
think  you  can  take  up  any  thing  you  like.  You  are  in  deeper 
water  with  your  classics  than  I  ever  got  into,  and  if  you  are 
rather  sick  of  that  swimming,  Cambridge  is  the  place  where 
you  can  go  into  mathematics  with  a  will,  and  disport  yourself 
on  the  dry  sand  as  much  as  you  like.  I  floundered  along  like 
a  carp." 

"  I  suppose  money  will  make  some  difference,  sir,"  said  Dan- 
iel, blusliing.     "  I  shall  have  to  keep  myself  by-and-by." 

"  Not  exactly.  I  recommend  you  not  to  be  extravagant — 
yes,  yes,  I  know — you  are  not  inclined  to  that ;  but  you  need 
not  take  up  any  thing  against  the  grain.  You  will  have  a 
bachelor's  income — enough  for  you  to  look  about  with.  Per- 
haps I  had  better  tell  you  that  you  may  consider  yourself  secure 
of  seven  hundred  a  year.  You  might  make  yourself  a  barrister 
— be  a  writer — take  up  politics.  I  confess  that  is  what  would 
please  me  best.  I  should  like  to  have  you  at  my  elbow  and 
pulling  with  me." 

Deronda  looked  embarrassed.  He  felt  that  he  ought  to 
make  some  sign  of  gratitude,  but  other  feelings  clogged  his 
tongue.  A  moment  was  passing  by  in  which  a  question  about 
his  birth  was  throbbing  within  him,  and  yet  it  seemed  more 
impossible  than  ever  that  the  question  should  find  vent — more 
impossible  than  ever  that  he  could  hear  certain  things  from 
Sir  Hugo's  lips.  The  liberal  way  in  which  he  was  dealt  with 
was  the  more  striking  because  the  baronet  had  of  late  cared 
particularly  for  money,  and  for  making  the  utmost  of  his  life- 
interest  in  the  estate  by  way  of  providing  for  his  daughters; 


182  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

and  as  all  this  flashed  through  Daniel's  mind  it  was  momenta- 
rily within  his  imagination  that  the  provision  for  him  might 
come  in  some  way  from  his  mother.  But  such  vaporous  con- 
jecture passed  away  as  quickly  as  it  came. 

Sir  Hugo  appeared  not  to  notice  any  thing  peculiar  in  Dan- 
iel's manner,  and  presently  went  on  with  his  usual  chatty  live- 
liness. 

"  I'm  glad  you  have  done  some  good  reading  outside  your 
classics,  and  have  got  a  grip  of  French  and  German.  The 
truth  is,  unless  a  man  can  get  the  prestige  and  income  of  a 
don  and  write  donnish  books,  it's  hardly  worth  while  for  him 
to  make  a  Greek  and  Latin  machine  of  himself,  and  be  able  to 
spin  you  out  pages  of  the  Greek  dramatists  at  any  verse  you'll 
give  him  as  a  cue.  That's  all  very  fine,  but  in  practical  life 
nobody  does  give  you  the  cue  for  pages  of  Greek.  In  fact,  it's 
a  nicety  of  conversation  which  I  would  have  you  attend  to — 
much  quotation  of  any  sort,  even  in  English,  is  bad.  It  tends 
to  choke  ordinary  remark.  One  couldn't  carry  on  life  com- 
fortably without  a  little  blindness  to  the  fact  that  every  thing 
has  been  said  better  than  we  can  put  it  ourselves.  But  talk- 
ing of  dons,  I  have  seen  dons  make  a  capital  figure  in  society ; 
and  occasionally  he  can  shoot  you  down  a  cart-load  of  learning 
in  the  right  place,  which  will  tell  in  politics.  Such  men  are 
wanted ;  and  if  you  have  any  turn  for  being  a  don,  I  say  noth- 
ing against  it." 

"  I  think  there's  not  much  chance  of  that.  Quicksett  and 
Puller  are  both  stronger  than  I  am.  I  hope  you  will  not  be 
much  disappointed  if  I  don't  come  out  with  high  honors." 

"  No,  no.  I  should  like  you  to  do  yourself  credit ;  but,  for 
God's  sake,  don't  come  out  as  a  superior,  expensive  kind  of  idiot, 
like  young  Brecon,  who  got  a  Double  First,  and  has  been  learn- 
ing to  knit  braces  ever  since.  What  I  wish  you  to  get  is  a 
passport  in  life.  I  don't  go  against  our  university  system :  we 
want  a  little  disinterested  culture  to  make  head  against  cotton 
and  capital,  especially  in  the  House.  My  Greek  has  all  evapo- 
rated :  if  I  had  to  construe  a  verse  on  a  sudden,  I  should  get 
an  apoplectic  fit.  But  it  formed  my  taste.  I  dare  say  my 
English  is  the  better  for  it." 

On' this  point  Daniel  kept  a  respectful  silence.     The  enthu- 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  183 

siastic  belief  in  Sir  Hugo's  writings  as  a  standard,  and  in  the 
Whigs  as  the  chosen  race  among  politicians,  had  gradually  van- 
ished along  with  the  seraphic  boy's  face.  He  had  not  been  the 
hardest  of  workers  at  Eton.  Though  some  kinds  of  study  and 
reading  came  as  easily  as  boating  to  him,  he  was  not  of  the 
material  that  usually  makes  the  first-rate  Eton  scholar.  There 
had  sprung  up  in  him  a  meditative  yearning  after  wide  knowl- 
edge, which  is  likely  always  to  abate  ardor  in  the  fight  for  prize 
acquirement  in  narrow  tracks.  Happily  he  was  modest,  and 
took  any  second-rateness  in  himself  simply  as  a  fact,  not  as  a 
marvel  necessarily  to  be  accounted  for  by  a  superiority.  Still, 
Mr.  Eraser's  high  opinion  of  the  lad  had  not  been  altogether 
belied  by  the  youth  :  Daniel  had  the  stamp  of  rarity  in  a  sub- 
dued fervor  of  sympathy,  an  activity  of  imagination  on  behalf 
of  others,  which  did  not  show  itself  effusively,  but  was  contin- 
ually seen  in  acts  of  considerateness  that  struck  his  companions 
as  moral  eccentricity.  "  Deronda  would  have  been  first-rate  if 
he  had  had  more  ambition,"  was  a  frequent  remark  about  him. 
But  how  could  a  fellow  push  his  way  properly  when  he  object- 
ed to  swap  for  his  own  advantage,  knocked  under  by  choice 
when  he  was  within  an  inch  of  victory,  and,  unlike  the  great 
Clive,  would  rather  be  the  calf  than  the  butcher  ?  It  was  a  mis- 
take, however,  to  suppose  that  Deronda  had  not  his  share  of 
ambition  :  we  know  he  had  suffered  keenly  from  the  belief  that 
there  was  a  tinge  of  dishonor  in  his  lot ;  but  there  are  some 
cases,  and  his  was  one  of  them,  in  which  the  sense  of  injury 
breeds — not  the  will  to  inflict  injuries  and  climb  over  them  as 
a  ladder,  but — a  hatred  of  all  injury.  He  had  his  flashes  of 
fierceness,  and  could  hit  out  upon  occasion,  but  the  occasions 
were  not  always  what  might  have  been  expected.  For  in  what 
related  to  himself  his  resentful  impulses  had  been  early  checked 
by  a  mastering  affectionateness.  Love  has  a  habit  of  saying 
"  Never  mind  "  to  angry  self,  who,  sitting  down  for  the  nonce 
in  the  lower  place,  by-and-by  gets  used  to  it.  So  it  was  that 
as  Deronda  approached  manhood  his  feeling  for  Sir  Hugo, 
while  it  was  getting  more  and  more  mixed  with  criticism,  was 
gaining  in  that  sort  of  allowance  which  reconciles  criticism  with 
tenderness.  The  dear  old  beautiful  home  and  every  thing 
within  it,  Lady  Mallingrer  and  her  little  ones  included,  were 


184  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

consecrated  for  the  youth  as  they  had  been  for  the  boy — only 
with  a  certain  difference  of  light  on  the  objects.  The  altar- 
piece  was  no  longer  miraculously  perfect,  painted  under  infalli- 
ble guidance,  but  the  human  hand  discerned  in  the  work  was 
appealing  to  a  reverent  tenderness  safer  from  the  gusts  of  dis- 
covery. Certainly  Deronda's  ambition,  even  in  his  spring-time, 
lay  exceptionally  aloof  from  conspicuous,  vulgar  triumph,  and 
fl-om  other  ugly  forms  of  boyish  energy ;  perhaps  because  he 
was  early  impassioned  by  ideas,  and  burned  his  fire  on  those 
heights.  One  may  spend  a  good  deal  of  energy  in  disliking 
and  resisting  what  others  pursue,  and  a  boy  who  is  fond  of 
somebody  else's  pencil-case  may  not  be  more  energetic  than 
another  who  is  fond  of  giving  his  own  pencil-case  away.  Still, 
it  was  not  Deronda's  disposition  to  escape  from  ugly  scenes : 
he  was  more  inclined  to  sit  through  them,  and  take  care  of  the 
fellow  least  able  to  take  care  of  himself."  It  had  helped  to 
make  him  popular  that  he  was  sometimes  a  little  compromised 
by  this  apparent  comradeship.  For  a  meditative  interest  in 
learning  how  human  miseries  are  wrought  —  as  precocious  in 
him  as  another  sort  of  genius  in  the  poet  who  writes  a  Queen 
Mab  at  nineteen — was  so  infused  with  kindliness  that  it  easily 
passed  for  comradeship.  Enough.  In  many  of  our  neighbors' 
lives  there  is  much  not  only  of  error  and  lapse,  but  of  a  certain 
exquisite  goodness  which  can  never  be  written  or  even  spoken 
— only  divined  by  each  of  us,  according  to  the  inward  instruc- 
tion of  our  own  privacy. 

The  impression  he  made  at  Cambridge  corresponded  to  his 
position  at  Eton.  Every  one  interested  in  him  agreed  that  he 
might  have  taken  a  high  place  if  his  motives  had  been  of  a 
more  pushing  sort;  and  if  he  had  not,  instead  of  regarding 
studies  as  instruments  of  success,  hampered  himself  with  the 
notion  that  they  were  to  feed  motive  and  opinion — a  notion 
which  set  him  criticising  methods  and  arguing  against  his 
freight  and  harness,  when  he  should  have  been  using  all  his 
might  to  pull.  In  the  beginning  his  work  at  the  university 
had  a  new  zest  for  him :  indifferent  to  the  continuation  of  the 
Eton  classical  drill,  he  applied  himself  vigorously  to  mathemat- 
ics, for  which  he  had  shown  an  early  aptitude  under  Mr.  Eraser, 
and  he  had  the  delight  of  feeling  his  strength  in  a  comparative- 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  185 

ly  fresh  exercise  of  thought.  That  deUght,  and  the  favorable 
opinion  of  his  tutor,  determined  him  to  try  for  a  mathematical 
scholarship  in  the  Easter  of  his  second  year :  he  wished  to 
gratify  Sir  Hugo  by  some  achievement,  and  the  study  of  the 
higher  mathematics,  having  the  growing  fascination  inherent  in 
all  thinking  which  demands  intensity,  was  making  him  a  more 
exclusive  worker  than  he  had  been  before. 

But  here  came  the  old  check  which  had  been  growing  with 
his  growth.  He  found  the  inward  bent  toward  comprehension 
and  thoroughness  diverging  more  and  more  from  the  track 
marked  out  by  the  standards  of  examination :  he  felt  a  height- 
ening discontent  with  the  wearing  futility  and  enfeebling  strain 
of  a  demand  for  excessive  retention  and  dexterity,  without  any 
insight  into  the  principles  which  form  the  vital  connections  of 
knowledge.  (Deronda's  under  -  graduateship  occurred  fifteen 
years  ago,  when  the  perfection  of  our  university  methods  was 
not  yet  indisputable.)  In  hours  when  his  dissatisfaction  was 
strong  upon  him,  he  reproached  himself  for  having  been  at- 
tracted by  the  conventional  advantage  of  belonging  to  an  En- 
glish  university,  and  was  tempted  toward  the  project  of  asking 
Sir  Hugo  to  let  him  quit  Cambridge  and  pursue  a  more  inde^ 
pendent  line  of  study  abroad.  The  genns  of  this  inclination 
had  been  already  stirring  in  his  boyish  love  of  universal  history, 
which  made  him  want  to  be  at  home  in  foreign  countries,  and 
follow  in  imagination  the  traveling  students  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  He  longed  now  to  have  the  sort  of  apprenticeship  to 
life  which  would  not  shape  him  too  definitely,  and  rob  him  of 
the  choice  that  might  come  from  a  free  growth.  One  sees 
that  Deronda's  demerits  were  likely  to  be  on  the  side  of  reflect- 
ive hesitation,  and  this  tendency  was  encouraged  by  his  posi- 
tion :  there  was  no  need  for  him  to  get  an  immediate  income, 
or  to  fit  himself  in  haste  for  a  profession  ;  andiis  sensibility  to 
the  half-known  facts  of  his  parentage  made  him  an  excuse  for 
lingering  longer  than  others  in  a  state  of  social  neutrality. 
Other  men,  he  inwardly  said,  had  a  more  definite  place  and 
duties.  But  the  project  which  flattered  his  inclination  might 
not  have  gone  beyond  the  stage  of  ineffective  brooding,  if  cer- 
tain circumstances  had  not  quickened  it  into  action. 

The  circumstances  arose  out  of  an  enthusiastic  friendship 


186  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

which  extended  into  his  after-life.  Of  the  same  year  with 
himself,  and  occupying  small  rooms  close  to  his,  was  a  youth 
who  had  come  as  an  exhibitioner  from  Christ's  Hospital,  and 
had  eccentricities  enough  for  a  Charles  Lamb.  Only  to  look 
at  his  pinched  features  and  blonde  hair  hanging  over  his  collar 
reminded  one  of  pale  quaint  heads  by  early  German  painters ; 
and  when  this  faint  coloring  was  lighted  up  by  a  joke,  there  came 
sudden  creases  about  the  mouth  and  eyes  which  might  have 
been  molded  by  the  soul  of  an  aged  humorist.  His  father,  an 
engraver  of  some  distinction,  had  been  dead  eleven  years,  and 
his  mother  had  three  girls  to  educate  and  maintain  on  a  meagre 
annuity.  Hans  Meyrick — he  had  been  daringly  christened  aft- 
er Holbein  —  felt  himself  the  pillar,  or^ rather  the  knotted  and 
twisted  trunk,  round  which  these  feeble  climbing  plants  must 
cling.  There  was  no  want  of  ability  or  of  honest,  well-meaning 
affection  to  make  the  prop  trustworthy  :  the  ease  and  quickness 
with  which  he  studied  might  serve  him  to  win  prizes  at  Cam- 
bridge, as  he  had  done  among  the  Blue  Coats,  in  spite  of  ir- 
regularities. The  only  danger  was,  that  the  incalculable  tend- 
encies in  him  might  be  fatally  timed,  and  that  his  good  in- 
tentions might  be  frustrated  by  some  act  which  was  not  due  to 
habit,  but  to  capricious,  scattered  impulses.  He  could  not  be 
said  to  have  any  one'  bad  habit ;  yet  at  longer  or  shorter  inter- 
vals he  had  fits  of  impish  recklessness,  and  did  things  that 
would  have  made  the  worst  habits. 

Hans  in  his  right  mind,  however,  was  a  lovable  creature,  and 
in  Deronda  he  had  happened  to  find  a  friend  who  was  likely  to 
stand  by  him  with  the  more  constancy,  from  compassion  for 
these  brief  aberrations  that  might  bring  a  long  repentance. 
Hans,  indeed,  shared  Deronda's  rooms  nearly  as  much  as  he 
used  his  own :  to  Deronda  he  poured  himself  out  on  his  studies, 
his  affairs,  his  hopes ;  the  poverty  of  his  home,  and  his  love 
for  the  creatures  there ;  the  itching  of  his  fingers  to  draw,  and 
his  determination  to  fight  it  away  for  the  sake  of  getting  some 
sort  of  plum  that  he  might  divide  with  his  mother  and  the 
girls.  He  wanted  no  confidence  in  return,  but  seemed  to  take 
Deronda  as  an  Olympian  who  needed  nothing — an  egotism  in 
friendship  which  is  common  enough  with  mercurial,  expansive 
natures.     Deronda  was  content,  and  gave  Meyrick  all  the  inter- 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  187 

est  he  claimed,  getting  at  last  a  brotlierly  anxiety  about  him, 
looking  after  him  in  his  erratic  moments,  and  contriving  by 
adroitly  delicate  devices  not  only  to  make  up  for  his  friend's 
lack  of  pence,  but  to  save  him  from  threatening  chances.  Such 
friendship  easily  becomes  tender :  the  one  spreads  strong,  shel- 
tering wings  that  delight  in  spreading,  the  other  gets  the  warm 
protection  which  is  also  a  delight.  Meyrick  was  going  in  for 
a  classical  scholarship,  and  his  success,  in  various  ways  mo- 
mentous, was  the  more  probable  from  the  steadying  influence 
of  Deronda's  friendship. 

But  an  imprudence  of  MeyricVs,  committed  at  the  beginning 
of  the  autumn  term,  threatened  to  disappoint  his  hopes.  With 
his  usual  alternation  between  unnecessary  expense  and  self-pri- 
vation, he  had  given  too  much  money  for  an  old  engraving 
which  fascinated  him,  and,  to  make  up  for  it,  had  come  from 
London  in  a  third-class  carriage  with  his  eyes  exposed  to  a  bit- 
ter wind,  and  any  irritating  particles  the  wind  might  drive  be- 
fore it.  The  consequence  was  a  severe  inflammation  of  the 
eyes,  which  for  some  time  hung  over  him  the  threat  of  a  last- 
ing injury.  This  crushing  trouble  called  out  all  Deronda's  readi- 
ness to  devote  himself,  and  he  made  every  other  occupation  sec- 
ondary to  that  of  being  companion  and  eyes  to  Hans,  working 
with  him  and  for  him  at  his  classics,  that  if  possible  his  chance 
of  the  classical  scholarship  might  be  saved.  Hans,  to  keep  the 
knowledge  of  his  suffering  from  his  mother  and  sisters,  alleged 
his  work  as  a  reason  for  passing  the  Christmas  at  Cambridge, 
and  his  friend  staid  up  with  him. 

Meanwhile  Deronda  relaxed  his  hold  on  his  mathematics,  and 
Hans,  reflecting  on  this,  at  length  said,  "  Old  fellow,  while  you 
are  hoisting  me  you  are  risking  yourself.  With  your  mathe- 
matical cram  one  may  be  like  Moses  or  Mohammed  or  some- 
body of  that  sort  who  had  to  cram,  and  forgot  in  one  day  what 
it  had  taken  him  forty  to  learn." 

Deronda  would  not  admit  that  he  cared  about  the  risk,  and 
he  had  really  been  beguiled  into  a  little  indifference  by  double 
sympathy :  he  was  very  anxious  that  Hans  should  not  miss  the 
much-needed  scholarship,  and  he  felt  a  revival  of  interest  in  the 
old  studies.  Still,  when  Hans,  rather  late  in  the  day,  got  able 
to  use  his  own  eyes,  Deronda  had  tenacity  enough  to  try  hard 


188  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

and  recover  his  lost  ground.  He  failed,  however ;  out  he  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Meyrick  win. 

Success,  as  a  sort  of  beginning  that  urged  completion,  might 
have  reconciled  Deronda  to  his  university  course ;  but  the  emp- 
tiness of  all  things,  from  politics  to  pastimes,  is  never  so  strik- 
ing to  us  as  when  we  fail  in  them.  The  loss  of  the  personal 
triumph  had  no  severity  for  him,  but  the  sense  of  having  spent 
his  time  ineffectively  in  a  mode  of  working  which  had  been 
against  the  grain  gave  him  a  distaste  for  any  renewal  of  the 
process,  which  turned  his  imagined  project  of  quitting  Cam- 
brido-e  into  a  serious  intention.  In  speaking  of  his  intention 
to  Meyrick,  he  made  it  appear  that  he  was  glad  of  the  turn 
events  had  taken — glad  to  have  the  balance  dip  decidedly,  and 
feel  freed  from  his  hesitations ;  but  he  observed  that  he  must 
of  course  submit  to  any  strong  objection  on  the  part  of  Sir 
Hugo. 

Meyrick's  joy  and  gratitude  were  disturbed  by  much  uneasi- 
ness. He  believed  in  Deronda's  alleged  preference,  but  he  felt 
keenly  that  in  serving  him  Daniel  had  placed  himself  at  a  dis- 
advantage in  Sir  Hugo's  opinion,  and  he  said  mournfully,  "  If 
you  had  got  the  scholarship.  Sir  Hugo  would  have  thought  that 
you  asked  to  leave  us  with  a  better  grace.  You  have  spoiled 
your  luck  for  my  sake,  and  I  can  do  nothing  to  mend  it." 

"  Yes,  you  can ;  you  are  to  be  a  first-rate  fellow.  I  call  that 
a  first-rate  investment  of  my  luck." 

"  Oh,  confound  it !  You  save  an  ugly  mongrel  from  drown- 
ing, and  expect  him  to  cut  a  fine  figure.  The  poets  have  made 
tragedies  enough  about  signing  one's  self  over  to  wickedness 
for  the  sake  of  getting  something  plummy.  I  shall  write  a 
tragedy  of  a  fellow  who  signed  himself  over  to  be  good,  and 
was  uncomfortable  ever  after." 

But  Hans  lost  no  time  in  secretly  writing  the  history  of  the 
affair  to  Sir  Hugo,  making  it  plain  that  but  for  Deronda's  gen- 
erous devotion  he  could  hardly  have  failed  to  win  the  prize  he 
had  been  working  for. 

The  two  friends  w^ent  up  to  town  together :  Meyrick  to  re- 
joice with  his  mother  and  the  girls  in  their  little  home  at  Chel- 
sea; Deronda  to  carry  out  the  less  easy  task  of  opening  his 
mind  to  Sir  Hugo.     He  relied  a  little  on  the  baronet's  general 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  189 

tolerance  of  eccentricities,  but  he  expected  more  opposition  than 
he  met  with.  He  was  received  with  even  warmer  kindness  than 
usual,  the  failure  was  passed  over  lightly ;  and  when  he  detailed 
his  reasons  for  w^ishing  to  quit  the  university  and  go  to  study 
abroad,  Sir  Hugo  sat  for  some  time  in  a  silence  which  was  rath- 
er meditative  than  surprised.  At  last  he  said,  looking  at  Daniel 
with  examination,  "  So  you  don't  want  to  be  an  Englishman  to 
the  backbone,  after  all  ?" 

"  I  want  to  be  an  Englishman,  but  I  want  to  understand  other 
points  of  view.  And  I  want  to  get  rid  of  a  merely  English  at- 
titude in  studies." 

"  I  see ;  you  don't  want  to  be  turned  out  in  the  same  mold 
as  every  other  youngster.  And  I  have  nothing  to  say  against 
your  doffing  some  of  our  national  prejudices.  I  feel  the  better 
myself  for  having  spent  a  good  deal  of  my  time  abroad.  But, 
for  God's  sake,  keep  an  English  cut,  and  don't  become  indiffer- 
ent to  bad  tobacco  i!  And — my  dear  boy — it  is  good  to  be  un- 
selfish and  generous ;  but  don't  carry  that  too  far.  It  will  not 
do  to  give  yourself  to  be  melted  down  for  the  benefit  of  the 
tallow-trade;  you  must  know  where  to  find  yourself.  How- 
ever, I  shall  put  no  veto  on  your  going.  Wait  until  I  can  get 
off  committee,  and  I'll  run  over  with  you." 

So  Deronda  went  according  to  his  will ;  but  not  before  he 
had  spent  some  hours  w^th  Hans  Meyrick,  and  been  introduced 
to  the  mother  and  sisters  in  the  Chelsea  home.  The  shy  girls 
watched  and  registered  every  look  of  their  brother's  friend,  de- 
clared by  Hans  to  have  been  the  salvation  of  him,  a  fellow  like 
nobody  else,  and,  in  fine,  a  brick.  They  so  thoroughly  accepted 
Deronda  as  an  ideal,  that  when  he  was  gone  the  youngest  set 
to  work,  under  the  criticism  of  the  two  elder  girls,  to  paint  him 
as  Prince  Camaralzaman. 


DANIEL    DERONDA. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

"  This  is  truth  the  poet  sings, 
That  a  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrow 
Is  remembering  happier  things." 

Tennyson  :  Locksley  Hall. 

evening  near  the  end  of  July,  Deronda  was  rowing 
himself  on  the  Thames.  It  was  already  a  year  or  more  since 
he  had  come  back  to  England,  with  the  understanding  that  his 
education  was  finished,  and  that  he  was  somehow  to  take  his 
place  in  English  society  ;  but  though,  in  deference  to  Sir  Hugo's 
wish,  and  to  fence  off  idleness,  he  had  begun  to  read  law,  this 
apparent  decision  had  been  without  other  result  than  to  deepen 
the  roots  of  indecision.  His  old  love  of  boating  had  revived 
with  the  more  force  now  that  he  was  in  town  with  the  Mallin- 
gers,  because  he  could  nowhere  else  get  the  same  still  seclusion 
which  the  river  gave  him.  He  had  a  boat  of  his  own  at  Put- 
ney ;  and  whenever  Sir  Hugo  did  not  want  him,  it  was  his  chief 
holiday  to  row  till  past  sunset,  and  come  in  again  with  the  stars. 
Not  that  he  was  in  a  sentimental  stage  ;  but  he  was  in  another 
sort  of  contemplative  mood  perhaps  more  common  in  the  young 
men  of  our  day  —  that  of  questioning  whether  it  were  worth 
while  to  take  part  in  the  battle  of  the  world  :  I  mean,  of  course, 
the  young  men  in  whom  the  unproductive  labor  of  questioning  is 
sustained  by  three  or  five  per  cent,  on  capital  which  somebody 
else  has  battled  for.  It  puzzled  Sir  Hugo  that  one  who  made 
a  splendid  contrast  with  all  that  was  sickly  and  puling  should 
be  hampered  with  ideas  which,  since  they  left  an  accomplished 
Whig  like  himself  unobstructed,  could  be  no  better  than  spec- 
tral illusions  ;  especially  as  Deronda  set  himself  against  author- 
ship— a  vocation  which  is  understood  to  turn  foolish  thinking 
into  funds. 

Rowing  in  his  dark-blue  shirt  and  skull-cap,  his  curls  closely 
clipped,  his  mouth  beset  with  abundant  soft  waves  of  beard,  he 
bore  only  disguised  traces  of  the  seraphic  boy  "  trailing  clouds 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  191 

of  glory."  Still,  even  one  wlio  had  never  seen  him  since  his 
boyhood  might  have  looked  at  him  with  slow  recognition,  due 
perhaps  to  the  peculiarity  of  the  gaze  which  Gwendolen  chose 
to  calP"  dreadful,"  though  it  had  really  a  very  mild  sort  of 
scrutiny.  The  voice,  sometimes  audible  in  subdued  snatches 
of  song,  had  turned  out  merely  a  high  barytone ;  indeed,  only 
to  look  at  his  lithe,  powerful  frame  and  the  firm  gravity  of  his 
face  would  have  been  enough  for  an  experienced  guess  that  he 
had  no  rare  and  ravishing  tenor  such  as  nature  reluctantly 
makes  at  some  sacrifice.  Look  at  his  hands :  they  are  not 
small  and  dimpled,  with  tapering  fingers  that  seem  to  have  only 
a  deprecating  touch  :  they  are  long,  flexible,  firmly  grasping 
hands,  such  as  Titian  has  painted  in  a  picture  where  he  wanted 
to'  show  the  combination  of  refinement  with  force.  And  there 
is  something  of  a  likeness,  too,  between  the  faces  belonging  to 
the  hands — in  both  the  uniform  pale-brown  skin,  the  perpen- 
dicular brow,  the  calmly  penetrating  eyes.  Not  seraphic  any 
longer :  thoroughly  terrestrial  and  manly  ;  but  still  of  a  kind  to 
raise  belief  in  a  human  dignity  w^hich  can  afford  to  acknowledge 
poor  relations. 

Such  types  meet  us  here  and  there  among  average  condi- 
tions ;  in  a  workman,  for  example,  whistling  over  a  bit  of  meas- 
urement and  lifting  his  eyes  to  answer  our  question  about  the 
road.  And  often  the  grand  meanings  of  faces  as  well  as  of 
written  words  may  lie  chiefly  in  the  impressions  of  those  who 
look  on  them.  But  it  is  precisely  such  impressions  that  hap- 
pen just  now^  to  be  of  importance  in  relation  to  Deronda,  row- 
ing on  the  Thames  in  a  very  ordinary  equipment  for  a  young 
Englishman  at  leisure,  apd  passing  under  Kew  Bridge  with  no 
thought  of  an  adventure  in  which  his  appearance  was  likely  to 
play  any  part.  In  fact,  he  objected  very  strongly  to  the  notion, 
which  others  had  not  allowed  him  to  escape,  that  his  appear- 
ance was  of  a  kind  to  draw  attention ;  and  hints  of  this,  intend- 
ed to  be  complimentary,  found  an  angry  resonance  in  him,  com- 
ing from  mingled  experiences,  to  which  a  clue  has  already 
been  given.  His  own  face  in  the  glass  had  during  many  years 
been  associated  for  him  with  thoughts  of  some  one  whom  he 
must  be  like — one  about  whose  character  and  lot  he  continual- 
ly wondered,  and  never  dared  to  ask. 


192  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  Kew  Bridge,  between  six  and  seven 
o'clock,  the  river  was  no  solitude.  Several  persons  were  saun- 
tering on  the  towing-path,  and  here  and  there  a  boat  was  ply-' 
ing.  Deronda  had  been  rowing  fast  to  get  over  this  spot, 
when,  becoming  aware  of  a  great  barge  advancing  toward  him, 
he  guided  his  boat  aside,  and  rested  on  his  oar  within  a  couple 
of  yards  of  the  river-brink.  He  was  all  the  while  unconscious- 
ly continuing  the  low-toned  chant  which  had  haunted  his  throat 
all  the  way  up  the  river — the  gondolier's  song  in  the  "  Otello," 
where  Kossini  has  worthily  set  to  music  the  immortal  words  of 

Dante — 

"  Nessun  maggior  dolore 
Che  ricordarsi  del  tempo  felice 
Nella  miseria  :"* 

and,  as  he  rested  on  his  oar,  the  pianissimo  fall  of  the  melodic 
wail  "  nella  miseria  "  was  distinctly  audible  on  the  brink  of  the 
water.  Three  or  four  persons  had  paused  at  various  spots  to 
watch  the  barge  passing  the  bridge,  and  doubtless  included  in 
their  notice  the  young  gentleman  in  the  boat ;  but  probably  it 
was  only  to  one  ear  that  the  low  vocal  sounds  came  with  more 
significance  than  if  they  had  been  an  insect  murmur  amidst  the 
sum  of  current  noises.  Deronda,  awaiting  the  barge,  now 
turned  his  head  to  the  river-side,  and  saw  at  a  few  yards'  dis- 
tance from  him  a  figure  which  might  have  been  an  impersona- 
tion of  the  misery  he  was  unconsciously  giving  voice  to :  a  girl 
hardly  more  than  eighteen,  of  low,  slim  figure,  with  most  deli- 
cate little  face,  her  dark  curls  pushed  behind  her  ears  under  a 
large  black  hat,  a  long  woolen  cloak  over  her  shoulders.  Her 
hands  were  hanging  down  clasped  before  her,  and  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  river  with  a  look  of  immovable,  statue-like  despair. 
This  strong  arrest  of  his  attention  made  him  cease  singing :  ap- 
parently his  voice  had  entered  her  inner  world  without  her  hav- 
ing taken  any  note  of  whence  it  came,  for  when  it  suddenly 
ceased  she  changed  her  attitude  slightly,  and,  looking  round 
with  a  frightened  glance,  met  Deronda's  face.  It  was  but  a 
couple  of  moments,  but  that  seems  a  long  while  for  two  people 

*  Dante's  words  are  best  rendered  by  our  own  poet  in  the  lines  at  the 
head  of  the  chapter. 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  193 

to  look  straight  at  each  other.  Iler  look  was  something  like 
that  of  a  fawn  or  other  gentle  animal  before  it  turns  to  run 
away  :  no  blush,  no  special  alarm,  but  only  some  timidity  which 
yet  could  not  hinder  her  from  a  long  look  before  she  turned. 
In  fact,  it  seemed  to  Deronda  that  she  was  only  half-conscious 
of  her  surroundings ;  was  she  hungry,  or  was  there  some  other 
cause  of  bewilderment?  He  felt  an  outleap  of  interest  and 
compassion  toward  her ;  but  the  next  instant  she  had  turned 
and  walked  away  to  a  neighboring  bench  under  a  tree.  He 
had  no  right  to  linger  and  watch  her:  poorly  dressed,  melan- 
choly women  are  common  sights ;  it  was  only  the  delicate  beau- 
ty, the  picturesque  lines  and  color  of  the  image  that  were  ex- 
ceptional, and  these  conditions  made  it  the  more  markedly  im- 
possible that  he  should  obtrude  his  interest  upon  her.  He  be- 
gan to  row  away,  and  was  soon  far  up  the  river ;  but  no  other 
thoughts  were  busy  enough  quite  to  expel  that  pale  image  of 
unhappy  girlhood.  He  fell  again  and  again  to  speculating  on 
the  probable  romance  that  lay  behind  that  loneliness  and  look 
of  desolation ;  then  to  smile  at  his  own  share  in  the  prejudice 
that  interesting  faces  must  have  interesting  adventures ;  then 
to  justify  himself  for  feeling  that  sorrow  was  the  more  tragic 
when  it  befell  delicate,  child-like  beauty. 

"  I  should  not  have  forgotten  the  look  of  misery  if  she  had 
been  ugly  and  vulgar,"  he  said  to  himself.  But  there  was  no 
denying  that  the  attractiveness  of  the  image  made  it  likelier  to 
last.  It  was  clear  to  him  as  an  onyx  cameo :  the  brown-black 
drapery,  the  white  face  with  small,  small  features  and  dark, 
long -lashed  eyes.  His  mind  glanced  over  the  girl -tragedies 
that  are  going  on  in  the  world,  hidden,  unheeded,  as  if  they 
were  but  tragedies  of  the  copse  or  hedge-row,  where  the  help- 
less drag  wounded  wings  forsakenly,  and  streak  the  shadowed 
moss  with  the  red  moment-hand  of  their  own  death.  Deronda 
of  late,  in  his  solitary  excursions,  had  been  occupied  chiefly 
with  uncertainties  about  his  own  coui*se ;  but  those  uncertain- 
ties being  much  at  their  leisure,  were  wont  to  have  such  wide- 
sweeping  connections  with  all  life  and  history  that  the  new 
•image  of  helpless  sorrow  easily  blent  itself  with  what  seemed 
to  him  the  strong  array  of  reasons  why  he  should  shrink  from 
getting  into  that  routine  of  the  world  which  niakes  men  apolo- 

Vol.  I.— 9 


194  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

gize  for  all  its  wrong-doing,  and  take  opinions  as  mere  profes- 
sional equipment  —  why  he  should  not  draw  strongly  at  any 
thread  in  the  hopelessly  entangled  scheme  of  things. 

He  used  his  oars  little,  satisfied  to  go  with  the  tide  and  be 
taken  back  by  it.  It  was  his  habit  to  indulge  himself  in  that 
solemn  passivity  which  easily  comes  with  the  lengthening 
shadows  and  mellowing  light,  when  thinking  and  desiring  melt 
together  imperceptibly,  and  what  in  other  hours  may  have 
seemed  argument  takes  the  quality  of  passionate  vision.  By 
the  time  he  had  come  back  again  with  the  tide  past  Richmond 
Bridge  the  sun  was  near  setting;  and  the  approach  of  his 
favorite  hour — with  its  deepening  stillness,  and  darkening 
masses  of  tree  and  building  between  the  double  glow  of  the 
sky  and  the  river — disposed  him  to  linger  as  if  they  had  been 
an  unfinished  strain  of  music.  He  looked  out  for  a  perfectly 
solitary  spot  where  he  could  lodge  his  boat  against  the  bank, 
and,  throwing  himself  on  his  back  with  his  head  propped  on  the 
cushions,  could  watch  out  the  light  of  sunset  and  the  opening 
of  that  bead-roll  which  some  Oriental  poet  describes  as  God's 
call  to  the  little  stars,  who  each  answer,  "Here  am  I."  He 
chose  a  spot  in  the  bend  of  the  river  just  opposite  Kew  Gar- 
dens, where  he  had  a  great  breadth  of  water  before  him  reflect- 
ing the  glory  of  the  sky,  while  he  himself  was  in  shadow.  He 
lay  with  his  hands  behind  his  head  propped  on  a  level  with  the 
boat's  edge,  so  that  he  could  see  all  around  him,  but  could  not 
be  seen  by  any  one  at  a  few  yards'  distance ;  and  for  a  long 
while  he  never  turned  his  eyes  from  the  view  right  in  front  of 
him.  He  was  forgetting  every  thing  else  in  a  half-speculative, 
half-involuntary  identification  of  himself  with  the  objects  he 
was  looking  at,  thinking  how  far  it  might  be  possible  habitual- 
ly to  shift  his  centre  till  his  own  personality  would  be  no  less 
outside  him  than  the  landscape,  when  the  sense  of  something 
moving  on  the  bank  opposite  him,  where  it  was  bordered  by  a 
line  of  willow-bushes,  made  him  turn  his  glance  thitherward. 
In  the  first  moment  he  had  a  darting  presentiment  about  the 
moving  figure ;  and  now  he  could  see  the  small  face  with  the 
strange  dying  sunlight  upon  it.  He  feared  to  frighten  her  by  ' 
a  sudden  movement,  and  watched  her  with  motionless  attention. 
She  looked  round,  but  seemed  only  to  gather  security  from  the 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  195 

apparent  solitude,  hid  her  hat  among  the  willows,  and  immedi- 
ately took  off  her  woolen  cloak.  Presently  she  seated  herself 
and  deliberately  dipped  the  cloak  in  the  water,  holding  it  there 
a  little  while,  then  taking  it  out  with  effort,  rising  from  her 
seat  as  she  did  so.  By  this  time  Deronda  felt  sure  that  she 
meant  to  wrap  the  wet  cloak  round  her  as  a  drowning-shroud ; 
there  was  no  longer  time  to  hesitate  about  frightening  her. 
He  rose  and  seized  his  oar  to  ply  across :  happily  her  position 
lay  a  little  below  him.  The  poor  thing,  overcome  with  terror 
at  this  sign  of  discovery  from  the  opposite  bank,  sunk  down 
on  the  brink  again,  holding  her  cloak  but  half  out  of  the  wa- 
ter. She  crouched,  and  covered  her  face  as  if  she  kept  a  faint 
hope  that  she  had  not  been  seen,  and  that  the  boatman  was  ac- 
cidentally coming  toward  her.  But  soon  he  was  within  brief 
space  of  her,  steadying  his  boat  against  the  bank,  and  speak- 
ing, but  very  gently, 

"  Don't  be  afraid You  are  unhappy Bray,  trust 

me Tell  me  what  I  can  do  to  help  you." 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  up  at  him.  His  face  now 
was  toward  the  light,  and  she  knew  it  again.  But  she  did  not 
speak  for  a  few  moments,  which  were  a  renewal  of  their  for- 
mer gaze  at  each  other.  At  last  she  said  in  a  low,  sweet  voice, 
wath  an  accent  so  distinct  that  it  suggested  foreignness,  and  yet 
was  not  foreign,  "  I  saw  you  before." ....  And  then  added, 
dreamily,  after  a  like  pause,  "  Nella  miseria." 

Deronda,  not  understanding  the  connection  of  her  thought, 
supposed  that  her  mind  was  weakened  by  distress  and  hun- 
ger. 

"  It  w^as  you,  singing  ?"  she  went  on,  hesitatingly — "  Nessun 
maggior  dolore." ....  The  mere  words  themselves  uttered  in 
her  sweet  under-tones  seemed  to  give  the  melody  to  Deronda's 
ear. 

"Ah,  yes,"  he  said,  understanding  now,  "  I  am  often  singing 
them.  But  I  fear  you  will  injure  yourself  staying  here.  Pray 
let  me  carry  you  in  my  boat  to  some  place  of  safety.  And 
that  wet  cloak — let  me  take  it." 

He  would  not  attempt  to  take  it  without  her  leave,  dreading 
lest  he  should  scare  her.  Even  at  his  words,  he  fancied  that 
she  shrunk  and  clutched  the  cloak  more  tenaciouslv.     But  her 


196  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

eyes  were  fixed  on  him  with  a  question  in  them  as  she  said, 
"  You  look  good.     Perhaps  it  is  God's  command." 

"  Do  trust  me.  Let  me  help  you.  I  will  die  before  I  will 
let  any  harm  come  to  you." 

.  She  rose  from  her  sitting  posture,  first  dragging  the  saturated 
cloak  and  then  letting  it  fall  on  the  ground — it  was  too  heavy  for 
her  tired  arms.  Her  little  woman's  figure  as  she  laid  her  deli- 
cate chilled  hands  together  one  over  the  other  against  her  waist, 
and  went  a  step  backward  while  she  leaned  her  head  forward  as 
if  not  to  lose  her  sight  of  his  face,  was  unspeakably  touching. 

"  Great  God  !"  The  words  escaped  Deronda  in  a  tone  so  low 
and  solemn  that  they  seemed  like  a  prayer  become  unconscious- 
ly vocal.  The  agitating  impression  this  forsaken  girl  was  mak- 
ing on  him  stirred  a  fibre  that  lay  close  to  his  deepest"  interest 
in  the  fates  of  women — "  Perhaps  my  mother  was  like  this  one !" 
The  old  thought  had  come  now  with  a  new  impetus  of  mingled 
feeling,  and  urged  that  exclamation  in  which  both  East  and 
West  have  for  ages  concentrated  their  awe  in  the  presence  of 
inexorable  calamity. 

The  low-toned  words  seemed  to  have  some  re-assurance  in 
them  for  the  hearer:  she  stepped  forward  close  to  the  boat's 
side,  and  Deronda  put  out  his  hand,  hoping  now  that  she  would 
let  him  help  her  in.  She  had  already  put  her  tiny  hand  into 
his,  which  closed  round  it,  when  some  new  thought  struck  her, 
and,  drawing  back,  she  said, 

"  I  have  nowhere  to  go— nobody  belonging  to  me  in  all  this 
land." 

"  I  will  take  you  to  a  lady  who  has  daughters,"  said  Deronda, 
immediately.  He  felt  a  sort  of  relief  in  gathering  that  the 
wretched  home  and  cruel  friends  he  imagined  her  to  be  fleeing 
from  were  not  in  the  near  background.  Still  she  hesitated,  and 
said,  more  timidly  than  ever, 

"  Do  you  belong  to  the  theatre  ?" 

"  No ;  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  theatre,"  said  Deronda, 
in  a  decided  tone.  Then,  beseechingly,  "  I  will  put  you  in  per- 
fect safety  at  once — with  a  lady,  a  good  woman ;  I  am  sure  she 
will  be  kind.  Let  us  lose  no  time  :  you  will  make  yourself  ill. 
Life  may  still  become  sweet  to  you.  There  are  good  people — 
there  are  good  women  who  will  take  care  of  you." 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  197 

She  drew  backward  no  more,  but  stepped  in  easily,  as  if  she 
were  used  to  such  action,  and  sat  down  on  the  cushions. 

"  You  had  a  covering  for  your  head,"  said  Deronda. 

"  My  hat  ?"  (she  lifted  up  her  hands  to  her  head).  "  It  is 
quite  hidden  in  the  bush." 

"  I  will  find  it,"  said  Deronda,  putting  out  his  hand  depreca- 
tingly  as  she  attempted  to  rise.     "  The  boat  is  fixed." 

He  jumped  out,  found  the  hat,  and  lifted  up  the  saturated 
cloak,  wringing  it  and  throwing  it  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

"We  must  carry  the  cloak  away,  to  prevent  any  one  who 
may  have  noticed  you  from  thinking  you  have  been  drowned," 
he  said,  cheerfully,  as  he  got  in  again  and  presented  the  old  hat 
to  her.  "  I  wish  I  had  any  other  garment  than  my  coat  to  offer 
you.  But  shall  you  mind  throwing  it  over  your  shoulders  while 
we  are  on  the  water  ?  It  is  quite  an  ordinary  thing  to  do,  when 
people  return  late  and  are  not  enough  provided  with  wraps." 
He  held  out  the  coat  toward  her  with  a  smile,  and  there  came 
a  faint  melancholy  smile  in  answer,  as  she  took  it  and  put  it  on 
very  cleverly. 

"  I  have  some  biscuits  —  should  you  like  them  ?"  said  De- 
ronda. 

"  Xo ;  I  can  not  eat.  I  had  still  some  money  left  to  buy 
bread." 

He  began  to  ply  his  oar  without  further  remark,  and  they 
went  along  swiftly  for  many  minutes  without  speaking.  She 
did  not  look  at  him,  but  was  watching  the  oar,  leaning  forward 
in  an  attitude  of  repose,  as  if  she  were  beginning  to  feel  the 
comfort  of  returning  warmth  and  the  prospect  of  life  instead 
of  death.  The  twilight  was  deepening;  the  red  flush  was  all 
gone,  and  the  little  stars  were  giving  their  answer  one  after  an- 
other. The  moon  was  rising,  but  was  still  entangled  among 
trees  and  buildings.  The  light  was  not  such  that  he  could  dis- 
tinctly discern  the  expression  of  her  features  or  her  glance,  but 
they  were  distinctly  before  him  nevertheless  —  features  and  a 
glance  which  seemed  to  have  given  a  fuller  meaning  for  him  to 
the  human  face.  Among  his  anxieties  one  was  dominant :  his 
first  impression  about  her,  that  her  mind  might  be  disordered, 
had  not  been  quite  dissipated :  the  project  of  suicide  was  un- 
mistakable, and  gave  a  deeper  color  to  every  other  suspicious 


198  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

sign.  He  longed  to  begin  a  conversation,  but  abstained,  wish- 
ing to  encourage  the  confidence  that  might  induce  her  to  speak 
first.     At  last  she  did  speak. 

"  I  like  to  listen  to  the  oar." 

"  So  do  I." 

"  If  you  had  not  come,  I  should  have  been  dead  now." 

"  I  can  not  bear  you  to  speak  of  that.  I  hope  you  will  never 
be  sorry  that  I  came." 

"I  can  not  see  how  I  shall  be  glad  to  live.  The  maggior 
dolore  and  the  miseria  have  lasted  longer  than  the  tempo  feliceP 
She  paused,  and  then  went  on  dreamily,  ''''Dolore — miseria — 
I  think  those  words  are  alive." 

Deronda  was  mute :  to  question  her  seemed  an  unwarrant- 
able freedom.  He  shrunk  from  appearing  to  claim  the  authori- 
ty of  a  benefactor,  or  to  treat  her  with  the  less  reverence  be- 
cause she  was  in  distress.     She  went  on,  musingly, 

"  I  thought  it  was  not  wicked.  Death  and  life  are  one  be- 
fore the  Eternal.  I  know  our  fathers  slew  their  children  and 
then  slew  themselves,  to  keep  their  souls  pure.  I  meant  it  so. 
But  now  I  am  commanded  to  live.  I  can  not  see  how  I  shall 
live." 

"•  You  will  find  friends.     I  will  find  them  for  you." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  said,  mournfully,"  Not  my  mother 
and  brother.     I  can  not  find  them." 

"  You  are  English  ?  You  must  be — speaking  English  so  per- 
fectly." 

She  did  not  answer  immediately,  but  looked  at  Deronda 
again,  straining  to  see  him  in  the  doubtful  light.  Until  now 
she  had  been  watching  the  oar.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were  half 
roused,  and  wondered  which  part  of  her  impressions  was  dream- 
ing and  which  waking.  Sorrowful  isolation  had  benumbed  her 
sense  of  reality,  and  the  power  of  distinguishing  outward  and 
inward  was  continually  slipping  away  from  her.  Her  look  was 
full  of  wondering  timidity,  such  as  the  forsaken  one  in  the 
desert  might  have  lifted  to  the  angelic  vision  before  she  knew 
whether  his  message  were  in  anger  or  in  pity. 

"  You  want  to  know  if  I  am  English  T  she  said  at  last,  while 
Deronda  was  reddening  nervously  under  a  gaze  which  he  felt 
more  fully  than  he  saw. 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  199 

"  I  want  to  know  nothing  except  what  you  like  to  tell  me," 
he  said,  still  uneasy  in  the  fear  that  her  mind  was  wandering. 
"  Perhaps  it  is  not  good  for  you  to  talk." 

"  Yes,  I  will  tell  you.  I  am  English  -  born.  But  I  am  a 
Jewess." 

Deronda  was  silent,  inwardly  wondering  that  he  had  not  said 
this  to  himself  before,  though  any  one  who  had  seen  delicate- 
faced  Spanish  girls  might  simply  have  guessed  her  to  be  Span- 
ish. 

"  Do  you  despise  me  for  it  ?"  she  said,  presently,  in  low  tones, 
which  had  a  sadness  that  pierced  like  a  cry  from  a  small  dumb 
creature  in  fear. 

"  Why  should  I  ?"  said  Deronda.     ''  I  am  not  so  foolish." 

"  I  know  many  Jews  are  bad." 

"  So  are  many  Christians.  But  I  should  not  think  it  fair  for 
you  to  despise  me  because  of  that."  • 

^'  My  mother  and  brother  were  good.  But  I  shall  never  find 
them.  I  am  come  a  long  way — from  abroad.  I  ran  away; 
but  I  can  not  tell  you — I  can  not  speak  of  it.  I  thought  I 
might  find  my  mother  again — God  would  guide  me.  But  then 
I  despaired.  This  morning  when  the  light  came,  I  felt  as  if 
one  w^ord  kept  sounding  within  me — Xever !  never !  But  now 
— I  begin — to  think — "  her  w^ords  -were  broken  by  rising  sobs 
— "  I  am  commanded  to  live — perhaps  we  are  going  to  her." 

With  an  outburst  of  weeping  she  buried  her  head  on  her 
knees.  He  hoped  that  this  passionate  weeping  might  relieve 
her  excitement.  Meanwhile  he  was  inwardly  picturing  in  much 
embarrassment  how  he  should  present  himself  with  her  in  Park 
Lane — the  course  which  he  had  at  first  unreflectingly  deter- 
mined on.  No  one  kinder  and  more  gentle  than  Lady  Mallin- 
ger ;  but  it  was  hardly  probable  that  she  would  be  at  home ; 
and  he  had  a  shuddering  sense  of  a  lackey  staring  at  this  deli- 
cate, sorrowful  image  of  womanhood  —  of  glaring  lights  and 
fine  staircases,  and  perhaps  chilling,  suspicious  manners  from 
lady's  maid  and  housekeeper,  that  migh't  scare  the  mind  already 
in  a  state  of  dangerous  susceptibility.  But  to  take  her  to  any 
other  shelter  than  a  home  already  known  to  him  was  not  to  be 
contemplated :  he  ^vas  full  of  fears  about  the  issue  of  the  ad- 
venture  which  had  brought   on  him  a  responsibility  all  the 


200  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

heavier  for  the  strong  and  agitating  impression  this  child-like 
creature  had  made  on  him.  But  another  resource  came  to 
mind :  he  could  venture  to  take  her  to  Mrs.  Meyrick's — to  the 
small  home  at  Chelsea,  where  he  had  been  often  enough  since 
his  return  from  abroad  to  feel  sure  that  he  could  appeal  there 
to  generous  hearts,  which  had  a  romantic  readiness  to  believe 
in  innocent  need  and  to  help  it.  Hans  Meyrick  was  safe  away 
in  Italy,  and  Deronda  felt  the  comfort  of  presenting  himself 
with  his  charge  at  a  house  where  he  would  be  met  by  a  moth- 
erly figure  of  Quakerish  neatness,  and  three  girls  who  hardly 
knew  of  any  evil  closer  to  them  than  what  lay  in  history  books 
and  dramas,  and  would  at  once  associate  a  lovely  Jewess  with 
Rebecca  in  "  Ivanhoe,"  besides  thinking  that  every  thing  they 
did  at  Deronda' s  request  would  be  done  for  their  idol,  Hans. 
The  vision  of  the  Chelsea  home  once  raised,  Deronda  no  longer 
hesitated. 

The  rumbling  thither  in  the  cab  after  the  stillness  of  the  wa- 
ter seemed  long.  Happily  his  charge  had  been  quiet  since  her 
fit  of  weeping,  and  submitted  like  a  tired  child.  When  they 
were  in  the  cab,  she  laid  down  her  hat,  and  tried  to  rest  her 
head,  but  the  jolting  movement  would  not  let  it  rest :  still  she 
dozed,  and  her  sweet  head  hung  helpless  first  on  one  side,  then 
on  the  other. 

"  They  are  too  good  to  have  any  fear  about  taking  her  in," 
thought  Deronda.  Her  person,  her  voice,  her  exquisite  utter- 
ance, were  one  strong  appeal  to  belief  and  tenderness.  Yet 
what  had  been  the  history  which  had  brought  her  to  this  deso- 
lation ?  He  was  going  on  a  strange  errand — to  ask  shelter  for 
this  waif.  Then  there  occurred  to  him  the  beautiful  story  Plu- 
tarch somewhere  tells  of  the  Delj)hic  women :  how  when  the 
Msenads,  outworn  with  their  torch-lit  wanderings,  lay  down  to 
sleep  in  the  market-place,  the  matrons  came  and  stood  silently 
round  them  to  keep  guard  over  their  slumbers ;  then,  when 
they  waked,  ministered  to  them  tenderly  and  saw  them  safely 
to  their  own  borders.  He  could  trust  the  women  he  was  go- 
ing to  for  having  hearts  as  good. 

Deronda  felt  himself  growing  older  this  evening,  and  enter- 
ing on  a  new  phase  in  finding  a  life  to  which  his  own  had  come 
— perhaps  as  a  rescue ;  but  how  to  make  sure  that  snatching 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  201 

from  death  was  rescue  ?  The  moment  of  finding  a  fellow-creat- 
ure is  often  as  full  of  mingled  doubt  and  exultation  as  the  mo- 
ment of  findino-  an  idea. 


h 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  Life  is  a  various  mother :  now  she  dons 
Her  plumes  and  brilHants,  chmbs  the  marble  stairs 
With  head  aloft,  nor  ever  turns  her  eyes 
On  lackeys  who  attend  her ;  now  she  dwells 
•    Grim-clad  up  darksome  alleys,  breathes  hot  gin, 
And  screams  in  pauper  riot. 

But  to  these 
She  came  a  frugal  matron,  neat  and  deft, 
With  cheerful  morning  thoughts,  and  quick  device 
To  find  the  much  in  little." 

Mrs.  Meyrick's  house  was  not  noisy :  the  front  parlor  looked 
on  the  river,  and  the  back  on  gardens,  so  that  though  she  was 
reading  aloud  to  her  daughters,  the  window  could  be  left  open 
to  freshen  the  air  of  the  small  double  room  where  a  lamp  and 
two  candles  were  burning.  The  candles  were  on  a  table  apart 
for  Kate,  who  was  drawing  illustrations  for  a  publisher;  the 
lamp  was  not  only  for  the  reader,  but  for  Amy  and  Mab,  who 
were  embroidering  satin  cushions  for  "  the  great  world." 

Outside,  the  house  looked  very  narrow  and  shabby,  the  bright 
light  through  the  holland  blind  showing  the  heav^y  old-fashioned 
window-frame ;  but  it  is  pleasant  to  know  that  many  such  grim- 
walled  slices  of  space  in  our  foggy  London  have  been,  and  still 
are,  the  homes  of  a  culture  the  more  spotlessly  free  from  vul- 
garity because  poverty  has  rendered  every  thing  like  display  an 
impersonal  question,  and  all  the  grand  shows  of  the  world  sim- 
ply a  spectacle  which  rouses  no  petty  rivalry  or  vain  effort  after 
possession. 

The  Meyricks'  was  a  home  of  that  kind ;  and  they  all  clung 
to  this  particular  house  in  a  row  because  its  interior  was  filled 
with  objects  always  in  the  same  places,  which  for  the  mother 
held  memories  of  her  marriage -time,  and  for  the  young  ones 
seemed  as  necessary  and  uncriticised  a  part  of  their  world  as 

9* 


202  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

the  stars  of  the  Great  Bear  seen  from  the  back  windows.  Mrs. 
Meyrick  had  borne  much  stint  of  other  matters  that  she  might 
be  able  to  keep  some  engravings  specially  cherished  by  her  hus- 
band ;  and  the  narrow  spaces  of  wall  held  a  world-history  in 
scenes  and  heads  which  the  children  had  early  learned  by  heart. 
The  chairs  and  tables  were  also  old  friends  preferred  to  new. 
But  in  these  two  little  parlors,  with  no  furniture  that  a  broker 
would  have  cared  to  cheapen  except  the  prints  and  piano,  there 
were  space  and  apparatus  for  a  wide-glancing,  nicely  select  life, 
open  to  the  highest  things  in  music,  painting,  and  poetry.  I 
am  not  sure  that  in  the  times  of  greatest  scarcity,  before  Kate 
could  get  paid  work,  these  ladies  had  always  had  a  servant,  to 
light  their  fires  and  sweep  their  rooms ;  yet  they  were  fastidi- 
ous in  some  points,  and  could  not  believe  that  the  manners  of 
ladies  in  the  fashionable  world  were  so  full  of  coarse  selfish- 
ness, petty  quarreling,  and  slang  as  they  are  represented  to  be  in 
what  are  called  literary  photographs.  The  Meyricks  had  their 
little  oddities,  streaks  of  eccentricity  from  the  mother's  blood 
as  well  as  the  father's,  their  minds  being  like  mediaeval  houses 
with  unexpected  recesses  and  openings  from  this  into  that, 
flights  of  steps  and  sudden  outlooks. 

But  mother  and  daughters  were  all  united  by  a  triple  bond — 
family  love ;  admiration  for  the  finest  work,  the  best  action ; 
and  habitual  industry.  Hans's  desire  to  spend  some  of  his 
money  in  making  their  lives  more  luxurious  had  been  resisted 
by  all  of  them,  and  both  they  and  he  had  been  thus  saved  from 
regrets  at  the  threatened  triumph  of  his  yearning  for  art  over 
the  attractions  of  secured  income — a  triumph  that  would  by- 
and-by  oblige  him  to  give  up  his  fellowship.  They  could  all 
afford  to  laugh  at  his  Gavarni  caricatures,  and  to  hold  him  blame- 
less in  following  a  natural  bent  which  their  unselfishness  and 
independence  had  left  without  obstacle.  It  was  enough  for 
them  to  go  on  in  their  old  way,  only  having  a  grand  treat  of 
opera-going  (to  the  gallery)  when  Hans  came  home  on  a  visit. 

Seeing  the  group  they  made  this  evening,  one  could  hardly 
wish  them  to  change  their  way  of  life.  They  were  all  alike 
small,  and  so  in  due  proportion  with  their  miniature  rooms. 
Mrs.  Meyrick  was  reading  aloud  from  a  French  book :  she  was 
a  lively  little  woman,  half  French,  half  Scotch,  with  a  pretty 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  203 

articulateness  of  speech  that  seemed  to  make  daylight  in  her 
hearer's  understanding.  Though  she  was  not  yet  fifty,  her  rip- 
pling hair,  covered  by  a  Quakerish  net  cap,  was  chiefly  gray, 
but  her  eyebrows  were  brown  as  the  bright  eyes  below  them ; 
her  black  dress,  almost  like  a  priest's  cassock  with  its  row  of 
buttons,  suited  a  neat  figure  hardly  five  feet  high.  The  daugh- 
ters were  to  match  the  mother,  except  that  Mab  had  Hans's 
light  hair  and  complexion,  with  a  bossy,  irregular  brow  and  oth- 
er quaintnesses  that  reminded  one  of  him.  Every  thing  about 
them  was  compact,  from  the  firm  coils  of  their  hair,  fastened 
back  a  la  Chinoise,  to  their  gray  skirts  in  Puritan  non-conformi- 
ty with  the  fashion,  which  at  that  time  would  have  demanded 
that  four  feminine  circumferences  should  fill  all  the  free  space 
in  the  front  parlor.  All  four,  if  they  had  been  wax -work, 
might  have  been  packed  easily  in  a  fashionable  lady's  traveling- 
trunk.  Their  faces  seemed  full  of  speech,  as  if  their  minds  had 
been  shelled,  after  the  manner  of  horse-chestnuts,  and  become 
brightly  visible.  The  only  large  thing  of  its  kind  in  the  room 
was  Hafiz,  the  Persian  cat,  comfortably  poised  on  the  brown 
leather  back  of  a  chair,  and  opening  his  large  eyes  now  and 
then  to  see  that  the  lower  animals  were  not  in  any  mischief. 

The  book  Mrs.  Meyrick  had  before  her  was  Erckmann-Cha- 
trian's  "  Histoire  d'un  Conscrit."  She  had  just  finished  read- 
ing it  aloud,  and  Mab,  who  had  let  her  work  fall  on  the  ground 
while  she  stretched  her  head  forward  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the 
reader,  exclaimed, 

"  I  think  that  is  the  finest  story  in  the  world." 

"  Of  course,  Mab  !"  said  Amy ;  "  it  is  the  last  you  have  heard. 
Every  thing  that  pleases  you  is  the  best  in  its  turn." 

"  It  is  hardly  to  be  called  a  story,"  said  Kate.  "  It  is  a  bit 
of  history  brought  near  us  with  a  strong  telescope.  We  can 
see  the  soldiers'  faces :  no,  it  is  more  than  that — we  can  hear 
every  thing — we  can  almost  hear  their  hearts  beat." 

"  I  don't  care  what  you  call  it,"  said  Mab,  flirting  away  her 
thimble.  "  Call  it  a  chapter  in  Revelation.  It  makes  me  want 
to  do  something  good,  something  grand.  It  makes  me  so  sor- 
ry for  every  body.  It  makes  me  like  Schiller— I  want  to  take 
the  world  in  my  arms  and  kiss  it.  I  must  kiss  you  instead, 
little  mother !"     She  threw  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck. 


204  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"Whenever  you  are  in  that  mood,  Mab,  down  goes  your 
work,"  said  Amy.  "  It  would  be  doing  something  good  to  fin- 
ish your  cushion  without  soiling  it." 

"  Oh — oh — oh !"  groaned  Mab,  as  she  stooped  to  pick  up  her 
work  and  thimble.  "  I  wish  I  had  three  wounded  conscripts 
to  take  care  of." 

"  You  would  spill  their  beef -tea  while  you  were  talking,"  said 
Amy. 

"  Poor  Mab !  don't  be  hard  on  her,"  said  the  mother. 
"  Give  me  the  embroidery  now,  child.  You  go  on  with  your 
enthusiasm,  and  I  will  go  on  with  the  pink  and  white  pop- 

py-" 

"  Well,  ma,  I  think  you  are  more  caustic  than  Amy,"  said 
Kate,  while  she  drew  her  head  back  to  look  at  her  drawing. 

"  Oh — oh — oh !"  cried  Mab  again,  rising  and  stretching  her 
arms.  "I  wish  something  wonderful  would  happen.  I  feel 
like  the  deluge.  The  waters  of  the  great  deep  are  broken  up, 
and  the  windows  of  heaven  are  opened.  I  must  sit  down  and 
play  the  scales.'' 

Mab  was  opening  the  piano  while  the  others  were  laughing 
at  this  climax,  when  a  cab  stopped  before  the  house,  and  there 
forthwith  came  a  quick  rap  of  the  knocker. 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick,  starting  up,  "  it  is  after  ten, 
and  Phoebe  is  gone  to  bed."  She  hastened  out,  leaving  the 
parlor  door  open. 

"  Mr.  Deronda !"  The  girls  could  hear  this  exclamation  from 
their  mamma.  Mab  clasped  her  hands,  saying,  in  a  loud  whis- 
per, "  There  now !  something  is  going  to  happen  !"  Kate  and 
Amy  gave  up  their  work  in  amazement.  But  Deronda's  tone 
in  reply  was  so  low  that  they  could  not  hear  his  words,  and 
Mrs.  Meyrick  immediately  closed  the  parlor  door. 

"  I  know  I  am  trusting  to  your  goodness  in  a  most  extraor- 
dinary way,"  Deronda  went  on,  after  giving  his  brief  narrative, 
"  but  you  can  imagine  how  helpless  I  feel  with  a  young  creat- 
ure like  this  on  my  hands.  I  could  not  go  with  her  among 
strangers,  and  in  her  nervous  state  I  should  dread  taking  her 
into  a  house  full  of  servants.  I  have  trusted  to  your  mercy. 
I  hope  you  will  not  think  my  act  unwarrantable." 

"  On  the  contrary.     You  have  honored  me  by  trusting  me. 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  205 

I  see  your  difficulty.  Pray  bring  her  in.  I  will  go  and  pre- 
pare the  girls." 

AVhile  Deronda  went  back  to  the  cab,  Mrs.  Meyrick  turned 
into  the  parlor  again  and  said,  "  Here  is  somebody  to  take  care 
of  instead  of  your  wounded  conscripts,  Mab :  a  poor  girl  who 
was  going  to  drown  herself  in  despair.  Mr.  Deronda  found  her 
only  just  in  time  to  save  her.  He  brought  her  along  in  his 
boat,  and  did  not  know  what  else  it  would  be  safe  to  do  with 
her,  so  he  has  trusted  us  and  brought  her  here.  It  seems  she 
is  a  Jewess,  but  quite  refined,  he  says — knowing  Italian  and 
music." 

The  three  girls,  wondering  and  expectant,  came  f orvvard  and 
stood  near  each  other  in  mute  confidence  that  they  were  all 
feeling  alike  under  this  appeal  to  their  compassion.  Mab  looked 
rather  awe  -  stricken,  as  if  this  answer  to  her  wish  were  some- 
thing preternatural. 

Meanwhile  Deronda,  going  to  the  door  of  the  cab  where  the 
pale  face  was  now  gazing  out  with  roused  observation,  said,  "  I 
have  brought  you  to  some  of  the  kindest  people  in  the  world ; 
there  are  daughters  like  you.  It  is  a  happy  home.  Will  you 
let  me  take  you  to  them  ?" 

She  stepped  out  obediently,  putting  her  hand  in  his,  and  for- 
getting her  hat ;  and  w^hen*  Deronda  led  her  into  the  full  light 
of  the  parlor,  where  the  four  little  women  stood  awaiting  her, 
she  made  a  picture  that  would  have  stirred  much  duller  sensi- 
bilities than  theirs.  At  first  she  was  a  little  dazed  by  the  sud- 
den light,  and  before  she  had  concentrated  her  glance  he  had 
put  her  hand  into  the  mother's.  He  was  inwardly  rejoicing 
that  the  Meyricks  were  so  small :  the  dark-curled  head  was  the 
highest  among  them.  The  poor  wanderer  could  not  be  afraid 
of  these  gentle  faces  so  near  hers ;  and  now  she  w^as  looking  at 
each  of  them  in  turn  while  the  mother  said,  "  You  must  be 
weary,  poor  child." 

"We  will  take  care  of  you — we  will' comfort  you — w^e  will 
love  you,"  cried  Mab,  no  longer  able  to  restrain  herself,  and  tak- 
ing the  small  right  hand  caressingly  between  both  her  own. 
This  gentle  welcoming  w^armth  was  penetrating  the  bewildered 
one :  she  hung  back  just  enough  to  see  better  the  four  faces  in 
front  of  her,  whose  good-will  was  being  reflected  in  hers,  not 


206  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

in  any  smile,  but  in  that  indefinable  change  which  tells  us  that 
anxiety  is  passing  into  contentment.  For  an  instant  she  looked 
up  at  Deronda,  as  if  she  were  referring  all  this  mercy  to  him, 
and  then  again  turning  to  Mrs.  Meyrick,  said,  with  more  collect- 
edness  in  her  sweet  tones  than  he  had  heard  before, 

"  I  am  a  stranger.  I  am  a  Jewess.  You  might  have  thought 
I  was  wicked." 

"  No,  we  are  sure  you  are  good,"  burst  out  Mab. 

"  We  think  no  evil  of  you,  poor  child !  You  shall  be  safe 
with  us,"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick.  "  Come  now  and  sit  down.  You 
must  have  some  food,  and  then  go  to  rest." 

The  stranger  looked  up  again  at  Deronda,  who  said, 

"  You  will  have  no  more  fears  with  these  friends  ?  You  will 
rest  to-night  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  should  not  fear.  I  should  rest.  I  think  these  are 
the  ministerinor  ano-els." 

Mrs.  Meyrick  wanted  to  lead  her  to  a  seat,  but  again  hanging 
back  gently,  the  poor  weary  thing  spoke  as  if  with  a  scruple  at 
being  received  without  a  further  account  of  herself : 

"  My  name  is  Mirah  Lapidoth.  I  am  come  a  long  way,  all 
the  way  from  Prague,  by  myself.  I  made  my  escape.  I  ran 
away  from  dreadful  things.  I  came  to  find  my  mother  and 
brother  in  London.  I  had  been  taken  from  my  mother  when  I 
was  little,  but  I  thought  I  could  find  her  again.  I  had  trouble 
— the  houses  were  all  gone — I  could  not  find  her.  It  has  been 
a  long  while,  and  I  had  not  much  money.  That  is  why  I  am 
in  distress." 

"  Our  mother  will  be  good  to  you,"  cried  Mab.  "  See  what 
a  nice  little  mother  she  is  !" 

"Do  sit  down  now,"  said  Kate,  moving  a  chair  forward, 
while  Amy  ran  to  get  some  tea. 

Mirah  resisted  no  longer,  but  seated  herself  with  perfect  grace, 
crossing  her  little  feet,  laying  her  hands  one  over  the  other  on 
her  lap,  and  looking  at  her  friends  with  placid  reverence ;  where- 
upon Hafiz,  who  had  been  watching  the  scene  restlessly,  came 
forward  with  tail  erect  and  rubbed  himself  against  her  ankles. 
Deronda  felt  it  time  to  take  his  leave. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  come  again  and  inquire — perhaps  at 
five  to-morrow  ?"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Meyrick. 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  207 

"  Yes,  pray.  We  shall  have  had  time  to  make  acquaintance 
then." 

"■  Good-bye,"  said  Deronda,  looking  down  at  Mirah,  and  put- 
ting out  his  hand.  She  rose  as  she  took  it,  and  the  moment 
brought  back  to  them  both  strongly  the  other  moment  when 
she  had  first  taken  that  outstretched  hand.  She  lifted  her  eyes 
to  his,  and  said,  with  reverential  fervor,  "  The  God  of  our  fathers 
bless  you  and  deliver  you  from  all  evdl,  as  you  have  delivered 
me !  I  did  not  believe  there  was  any  man  so  good.  None  be- 
fore have  thought  me  worthy  of  the  best.  You  found  me  poor 
and  miserable,  yet  you  have  given  me  the  best." 

Deronda  could  not  speak,  but,  with  silent  adieus  to  the  Mey- 
ricks,  hurried  away. 


BOOK    III. 
MAIDENS  CHOOSING, 


( 


BOOK  III. 

MAIDENS  CHOOSING. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


"  I  pity  the  man  who  can  travel  from  Dan  to  Beersheba,  and  say, '  'Tis 
all  barren ;  and  so  it  is :  and  so  is  all  the  world  to  him  who  will  not  cul- 
tivate the  fruits  it  offers." — Sterne  :  Sentimental  Journey. 

To  say  that  Deronda  was  romantic  would  be  to  misrepresent 
him ;  but  under  his  calm  and  somewhat  self -repressed  exterior 
there  was  a  fervor  which  made  him  easily  find  poetry  and  ro- 
mance among  the  events  of  every-day  life.  And  perhaps  poet- 
ry and  romance  are  as  plentiful  as  ever  in  the  world  except  for 
those  phlegmatic  natures  who,  I  suspect,  would  in  any  age  have 
regarded  them  as  a  dull  form  of  erroneous  thinking.  They 
exist  very  easily  in  the  same  room  with  the  microscope,  and 
even  in  railway  carriages :  what  banishes  them  is  the  vacuum 
in  gentlemen  and  lady  passengers.  How  should  all  the  ap- 
paratus of  heaven  and  earth,  from  the  farthest  firmament  to 
the  tender  bosom  of  the  mother  who  nourished  us,  make  poet- 
ry for  a  mind  that  has  no  movements  of  awe  and  tenderness, 
no  sense  of  fellowship  which  thrills  from  the  near  to  the  dis- 
tant, and  back  again  from  the  distant  to  the  near  ? 

To  Deronda  this  event  of  finding  Mirah  was  as  heart-stirring 
as  any  thing  that  befell  Orestes  or  Rinaldo.  He  sat  up  half 
the  night,  living  again  through  the  moments  since  he  had  first 
discerned  Mirah  on  the  river-brink,  with  the  fresh  and  fresh 
vividness  which  belongs  to  emotive  memory.  ^\Tien  he  took 
up  a  book  to  try  and  dull  this  urgency  of  inward  vision,  the 
printed  words  were  no  more  than  a  net-work  through  which 


212  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

he  saw  and  beard  every  thing  as  clearly  as  before — saw  not 
only  the  actual  events  of  two  hours,  but  possibilities  of  what 
had  been  and  what  might  be,  which  those  events  were  enough 
to  feed  with  the  warm  blood  of  passionate  hope  and  fear. 
Something  in  his  own  experience  caused  Mirah's  search  after 
her  mother  to  lay  hold  with  peculiar  force  on  his  imagination. 
The  first  prompting  of  sympathy  was  to  aid  her  in  the  search : 
if  given  persons  were  extant  in  London  there  were  ways  of 
finding  them,  as  subtle  as  scientific  experiment,  the  right  ma- 
chinery being  set  at  work.  But  here  the  mixed  feelings  which 
belonged  to  Deronda's  kindred  experience  naturally  transfused 
themselves  into  his  anxiety  on  behalf  of  Mirah. 

The  desire  to  know  his  own  mother,  or  to  know  about  her, 
was  constantly  haunted  with  dread;  and  in  imagining  what 
might  befall  Mirah,  it  quickly  occurred  to  him  that  finding  the 
mother  and  brother  from  whom  she  had  been  parted  Avhen  she 
was  a  little  one  might  turn  out  to  be  a  calamity.  When  she 
was  in  the  boat  she  said  that  her  mother  and  brother  were 
good ;  but  the  goodness  might  have  been  chiefly  in  her  own 
ignorant  innocence  and  yearning  memory,  and  the  ten  or  twelve 
years  since  the  parting  had  been  time  enough  for  much  worsen- 
ing. Spite  of  his  strong  tendency  to  side  with  the  objects  of 
prejudice,  and  in  general  with  those  who  got  the  worst  of  it, 
his  interest  had  never  been  practically  drawn  toward  existing 
Jews,  and  the  facts  he  knew  about  them,  whether  they  walked 
conspicuous  in  fine  apparel  or  lurked  in  by-streets,  were  chiefly 
of  the  sort  most  repugnant  to  him.  Of  learned  and  accom- 
plished Jews,  he  took  it  for  granted  that  they  had  dropped 
their  religion,  and  wished  to  be  merged  in  the  people  of  their 
native  lands.  Scorn  flung  at  a  Jew  as  such  would  have  roused 
all  his  sympathy  in  griefs  of  inheritance;  but  the  indiscrimi- 
nate scorn  of  a  race  will  often  strike  a  specimen  who  has  well 
earned  it  on  his  own  account,  and  might  fairly  be  gibbeted  as 
a  rascally  son  of  Adam.  It  appears  that  the  Caribs,  who  know 
little  of  theology,  regard  thieving  as  a  practice  peculiarly  con- 
nected with  Christian  tenets,  and  probably  they  could  allege  ex- 
perimental grounds  for  this  opinion.  Deronda  could  not  escape 
(who  can  ?)  knowing  ugly  stories  of  Jewish  characteristics  and 
occupations ;  and  though  one  of  his  favorite  protests  was  against 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  213 

the  severance  of  past  and  present  history,  he  was  like  others  who 
shared  his  protest,  in  never  having  cared  to  reach  any  more 
special  conclusions  about  actual  Jews  than  that  they  retained  the 
virtues  and  vices  of  a  long-oppressed  race.  But  now  that  Mirah's 
longing  roused  his  mind  to  a  closer  survey  of  details,  very  disa- 
greeable images  urged  themselves  of  what  it  might  be  to  find  out 
this  middle-aged  Jewess  and  her  son.  To  be  sure,  there  was  the 
exquisite  refinement  and  charm  of  the  creature  herself  to  make 
a  presumption  in  favor  of  her  immediate  kindred,  but  —  he 
must  wait  to  know  more.  Perhaps  through  Mrs.  Meyrick  he 
might  gather  some  guiding  hints  from  Mirah's  own  lips.  Her 
voice,  her  accent,  her  looks — all  the  sweet  purity  that  clothed 
her  as  with  a  consecrating  garment,  made  him  shrink  the  more 
from  giving  her,  either  ideally  or  practically,  an  association  with 
what  was  hateful  or  contaminating.  But  these  fine  words 
with  which  we  fumigate  and  becloud  unpleasant  facts  are  not 
the  language  in  which  we  think.  Deronda's  thinking  went  on 
in  rapid  images  of  what  might  be :  he  saw  himself  guided  by 
some  official  scout  into  a  dingy  street ;  he  ent'^red  through  a 
dim  door-way,  and  saw  a  hawk-eyed  woman,  rough-headed  and 
unwashed,  cheapening  a  hungry  girl's  last  bit  of  finery ;  or,  in 
some  quarter  only  the  more  hideous  for  being  smarter,  he 
found  himself  under  the  breath  of  a  young  Jew,  talkative  and 
familiar,  willing  to  show  his  acquaintance  with  gentlemen's 
tastes,  and  not  fastidious  in  any  transactions  with  which  they 
would  favor  him — and  so  on  through  the  brief  chapter  of  his 
experience  in  "this  kind.  Excuse  him:  his  mind  was  not  apt 
to  run  spontaneously  into  insulting  ideas,  or  to  practice  a  form 
of  wit  which  identifies  Moses  with  the  advertisement  sheet ; 
but  he  was  just  now  governed  by  dread,  and  if  Mirah's  parents 
had  been  Christian,  the  chief  difference  would  have  been  that 
his  forebodings  would  have  been  fed  with  wider  knpwledge. 
It  was  the  habit  of  his  mind  to  connect  dread  with  unknown 
parentage,  and  in  this  case  as  well  as  his  own  there  was  enough 
to  make  the  connection  reasonable. 

But  what  was  to  be  done  with  Mirah  ?  She  needed  shelter 
and  protection  in  the  fullest  sense,  and  all  his  chivalrous  sen- 
timent roused  itself  to  insist  that  the  sooner  and  the  more 
fully  he  could  engage  for  her  the  interest  of  others  besides 


214  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

himself,  the  better  he  should  fulfill  her  claims  on  him.  He  had 
no  right  to  provide  for  her  entirely,  though  he  might  be  able 
to  do  so.  The  very  depth  of  the  impression  she  had  produced 
made  him  desire  that  she  should  understand  herself  to  be  en- 
tirely independent  of  him;  and  vague  visions  of  the  future, 
which  he  tried  to  dispel  as  fantastic,  left  their  influence  in  an 
anxiety,  stronger  than  any  motive  he  could  give  for  it,  that 
those  who  saw  his  actions  closely  should  be  acquainted  from 
the  first  with  the  history  of  his  relation  to  Mirah.  He  had 
learned  to  hate  secrecy  about  the  grand  ties  and  obligations  of 
his  life — to  hate  it  the  more  because  a  strong  spell  of  inter- 
w^oven  sensibilities  hindered  him  from  breaking  such  secrecy. 
Deronda  had  made  a  vow  to  himself  that  —  since  the  truths 
which  disgrace  mortals  are  not  all  of  their  own  making — the 
truth  should  never  be  made  a  disgrace  to  another  by  his  act. 
He  was  not  without  terror  lest  he  should  break  this  vow,  and 
fall  into  the  apologetic  philosophy  which  explains  the  world 
into  containing  nothing  better  than  one's  own  conduct. 

At  one  moment  he  resolved  to  tell  the  whole  of  his  advent- 
ure to  Sir  Hugo  and  Lady  Mallinger  the  next  morning  at 
breakfast,  but  the  possibility  that  something  quite  new  might 
reveal  itself  on  his  next  visit  to  Mrs.  Meyrick's  checked  this 
impulse,  and  he  finally  went  to  sleep  on  the  conclusion  that  he 
would  wait  until  that  visit  had  been  made. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  It  will  hardly  be  denied  that  even  in  this  frail  and  corrupted  world,  we 
sometimes  meet  persons  who,  in  their  very  mien  and  aspect,  as  well  as  in 
the  whole  habit  of  life,  manifest  such  a  signature  and  stamp  of  virtue,  as 
to  make  our  judgment  of  them  a  matter  of  intuition  rather  than  the  result 
of  continued  examination." — Alexander  Knox  :  quoted  in  SoiUJiey's  Life  of 
Wesley. 

MiRAH  said  that  she  had  slept  well  that  night;  and  when 
she  came  down  in  Mab's  black  dress,  her  dark  hair  curling  in 
fresh  fibrils  as  it  gradually  dried  from  its  plenteous  bath,  she 
looked  like  one  who  was  beginning  to  take  comfort  after  the 
long  sorrow  and  watching  which  had  paled  her  cheek  and 


BOOK  III. MAIDENS  CHOOSING.  215 

made  deep  blue  semicircles  under  her  eyes.  It  was  Mab  who 
carried  her  breakfast  and  ushered  her  down — with  some  pride 
in  the  effect  produced  by  a  pair  of  tiny  felt  slippers  which 
she  had  rushed  out  to  buy  because  there  were  no  shoes  in  the 
house  small  enough  for  Mirah,  whose  borrowed  dress  ceased 
about  her  ankles  and  displayed  the  cheap  clothing  that,  mold- 
ing itself  on  her  feet,  seemed  an  adornment  as  choice  as  the 
sheaths  of  buds.     The  farthing  buckles  were  bijoux. 

"  Oh,  if  you  please,  mamma !"  cried  Mab,  clasping  her  hands 
and  stooping  toward  Mirah's  feet,  as  she  entered  the  parlor. 
"  Look  at  the  slipp'ers,  how  beautifully  they  fit !  I  declare  she 
is  like  the  Queen  Budoor — '  two  delicate  feet,  the  work  of  the 
protecting  and  all  -  recompensing  Creator,  support  her;  and  I 
wonder  how  they  can  sustain  what  is  above  them.' " 

Mirah  looked  down  at  her  own  feet  in  a  child-like  way,  and 
then  smiled  at  Mrs.  Meyrick,  who  was  saying  inwardly,  "  One 
could  hardly  imagine  this  creature  having  an  evil  thought. 
But  wise  people  would  tell  me  to  be  cautious."  She  returned 
Mirah's  smile,  and  said,  "  I  fear  the  feet  have  had  to  sustain 
their  burden  a  little  too  often  lately.  But  to-day  she  will  rest 
and  be  my  companion." 

"And  she  will  tell  you  so  many  things,  and  I  shall  not  hear 
them,"  grumbled  Mab,  who  felt  herself  in  the  first  volume  of  a 
delightful  romance,  and  obliged  to  miss  some  chapters  because 
she  had  to  go  to  pupils. 

Kate  was  already  gone  to  make  sketches  along  the  river,  and 
Amy  was  away  on  business  errands.  It  was  what  the  mother 
wished,  to  be  alone  with  this  stranger,  whose  story  must  be  a 
sorrowful  one,  j  et  was  needful  to  be  told. 

The  small  front  parlor  was  as  good  as  a  temple  that  morn- 
ing. The  sunlight  was  on  the  river,  and  soft  air  came  in  through 
the  open  window;  the  walls  showed  a  glorious  silent  cloud 
of  witnesses — the  Virgin  soaring  amidst  her  cherubic  escort ; 
grand  Melancholia,  with  her  solemn  universe ;  the  Prophets  and 
Sibyls ;  the  school  of  Athens ;  the  Last  Supper ;  mystic  groups 
where  far-off  ages  made  one  moment;  grave  Holbein  and 
Rembrandt  heads;  the  Tragic  Muse;  last-century  children  at 
their  musings  or  their  play;  Italian  poets  —  all  were  there, 
through  the  medium  of  a  little  black  and  white.     The  neat 


216  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

mother  who  had  weathered  her  troubles,  and  come  out  of  them 
with  a  face  still  cheerful,  was  sorting  colored  wools  for  her  em- 
broidery. Hafiz  purred  on  the  window-ledge,  the  clock  on  the 
mantel-piece  ticked  without  hurry,  and  the  occasional  sound  of 
wheels  seemed  to  lie  outside  the  more  massive  central  quiet. 
Mrs.  Meyrick  thought  that  this  quiet  might  be  the  best  invita- 
tion to  speech  on  the  part  of  her  companion,  and  chose  not  to 
disturb  it  by  remark.  Mirah  sat  opposite  in  her  former  atti- 
tude, her  hands  clasped  on  her  lap,  her  ankles  crossed,  her  eyes 
at  first  traveling  slowly  over  the  objects  around  her,  but  final- 
ly resting  with  a  sort  of  placid  reverence  on  Mrs.  Meyrick.  At 
length  she  began  to  speak  softly. 

"  I  remember  my  mother's  face  better  than  any  thing ;  yet  I 
was  not  seven  when  I  was  taken  away,  and  I  am  nineteen  now." 

"I  can  understand  that,"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick.  "There  are 
some  earliest  things  that  last  the  longest." 

"  Oh  yes,  it  was  the  earliest.  I  think  my  life  began  with 
waking  up  and  loving  my  mother's  face :  it  was  so  near  to  me, 
and  her  arms  were  round  me,  and  she  sung  to  me.  One  hymn 
she  sung  so  often,  so  often ;  and  then  she  taught  me  to  sing  it 
with  her — it  was  the  first  I  ever  sung.  They  were  always  He- 
brew hymns  she  sung ;  and  because  I  never  knew  the  meaning 
of  the  words,  they  seemed  full  of  nothing  but  our  love  and  hap- 
piness. When  I  lay  in  my  little  bed,  and  it  was  all  white  above 
me,  she  used  to  bend  over  me,  between  me  and  the  white,  and 
Sing  in  a  sweet  low  voice.  I  can  dream  myself  back  into  that 
time  when  I  am  awake,  and  often  it  comes  back  to  me  in  my 
sleep — my  hand  is  very  little ;  I  put  it  up  to  her  face,  and  she 
kisses  it.  Sometimes  in  my  dream  I  begin  to  tremble  and 
think  that  we  are  both  dead ;  but  then  I  wake  up,  and  my  hand 
lies  like  this,  and  for  a  moment  I  hardly  know  myself.  But  if 
I  could  see  my  mother  again,  I  should  know  her." 

"  You  must  expect  some  change  after  twelve  years,"  said  Mrs. 
Meyrick,  gently.  "  See  my  gray  hair :  ten  years  ago  it  was 
bright  brown.  The  days  and  the  months  pace  over  us  like 
restless  little  birds,  and  leave  the  marks  of  their  feet  backward 
and  forward ;  especially  when  they  are  like  birds  with  heavy 
hearts — then  they  tread  heavily." 

"Ah,  I  am  sure  her  heart  has  been  heavy  for  want  of  me. 


BOOK  III. MAIDENS  CHOOSING.  217 

But  to  feel  her  joy  if  we  could  meet  again,  and  I  could  make 
her  know  how  I  love  her,  and  give  her  deep  comfort  after  all 
her  mourning !  If  that  could  be,  I  should  miijd  nothing ;  I 
should  be  glad  that  I  have  lived  through  my  trouble.  I  did 
despair.  The  world  seemed  miserable  and  wicked  ;  none  help- 
ed me  so  that  I  could  bear  their  looks  and  words ;  I  felt  that 
my  mother  was  dead,  and  death  w^as  the  only  way  to  her.  But, 
then,  in  the  last  moment — yesterday,  when  I  longed  for  the 
water  to  close  over  me — and  I  thought  that  death  was  the  best 
image  of  mercy,  then  goodness  came  to  me  living,  and  I  felt 
trust  in  the  living.  And — it  is  strange — but  I  began  to  hope 
that  she  was  living  too.  And  now  I  am  with  you — here — this 
morning,  peace  and  hope  have  come  into  me  like  a  flood.  I 
want  nothing ;  I  can  wait ;  because  I  hope  and  believe  and  am 
grateful — oh,  so  grateful !  You  have  not  thought  evil  of  me — 
you  have  not  despised  me." 

Mirah  spoke  with  low -toned  fervor,  and  sat  as  still  as  a 
picture  all  the  while. 

"  Many  others  would  have  felt  as  we  do,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Meyrick,  feeling  a  mist  come  over  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at 
her  work. 

"  But  I  did  not  meet  them — they  did  not  come  to  me." 
"  How  was  it  that  you  were  taken  from  your  mother  ?" 
"Ah,  I  am  a  long  while  coming  to  that.  It  is  dreadful  to 
speak  of,  yet  I  must  tell  you  —  I  must  tell  you  every  thing. 
My  father — it  was  he  who  took  me  away.  I  thought  we  were 
only  going  on  a  little  journey  ;  and  I  was  pleased.  There  was 
a  box,  with  all  my  little  things  in.  But  we  went  on  board  a 
ship,  and  got  farther  and  farther  away  from  the  land.  Then  I 
was  ill ;  and  I  thought  it  would  never  end  —  it  was  the  first 
misery,  and  it  seemed  endless.  But  at  last  we  landed.  I  knew 
nothing  then,  and  believed  what  my  father  said.  He  comfort- 
ed me,  and  told  me  I  should  go  back^to  my  mother.  But  it 
was  America  we  had  reached,  and  it  was  long  years  before  we 
came  back  to  Europe.  At  first  I  often  asked  my  father  when 
we  were  going  back  ;  and  I  tried  to  learn  writing  fast,  because 
I  wanted  to  write  to  my  mother ;  but  one  day,  when  he  found 
me  trying  to  write  a  letter,  he  took  me  on  his  knee,  and  told 
me  that  my  mother  and  brother  were  dead ;  that  was  why  we 
Vol.  I.— 10 


218  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

did  not  go  back.  I  remember  my  brother  a  little ;  he  carried 
me  once  ;  but  he  was  not  always  at  home.  I  believed  my  fa- 
ther when  he  said  that  they  were  dead.  I  saw  them  under  the 
earth  when  he  said  they  were  there,  with  their  eyes  forever 
closed.  I  never  thought  of  its  not  being  true ;  and  I  used  to 
cry  every  night  in  my  bed  for  a  long  while.  Then,  when  she 
came  so  often  to  me  in  my  sleep,  I  thought  she  must  be  living 
about  me,  though  I  could  not  always  see  her ;  and  that  comfort- 
ed me.  I  was  never  afraid  in  the  dark,  because  of  that ;  and 
very  often  in  the  day  I  used  to  shut  my  eyes  and  bury  my  face, 
and  try  to  see  her  and  to  hear  her  singing.  I  came  to  do  that 
at  last  without  shutting  my  eyes." 

Mirali  paused,  with  a  sweet  content  in  her  face,  as  if  she 
were  having  her  happy  vision,  while  she  looked  out  toward  the 
river. 

"  Still  your  father  was  not  unkind  to  you,  I  hope  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Meyrick,  after  a  minute,  anxious  to  recall  her. 

"No;  he  petted  me,  and  took  pains  to  teach  mc.  He  was 
an  actor ;  and  I  found  out  after  that  the  '  Coburg '  I  used  lo 
hear  of  his  going  to  at  home  was  a  theatre.  But  he  had  more 
to  do  with  the  theatre  than  acting.  He  had  not  always  been 
an  actor;  he  had  been  a  teacher,  and  knew  many  languages. 
His  acting  was  not  very  good,  I  think ;  but  he  managed  the 
stage,  and  wrote  and  translated  plays.  An  Italian  lady,  a  sing- 
er, lived  with  us  a  long  time.  They  both  taught  me ;  and  I 
had  a  master  besides,  who  made  me  learn  by  heart  and  recite. 
I  worked  quite  hard,  though  I  was  so  little  ;  and  I  was  not 
nine  when  I  first  went  on  the  stage.  I  could  easily  learn  things, 
and  I  was  not  afraid.  But  then  and  ever  since  I  hated  our 
way  of  life.  My  father  had  money,  and  we  had  finery  about 
us  in  a  disorderly  way ;  always  there  were  men  and  women 
coming  and  going,  there  were  loud  laughing  and  disputing, 
strutting,  snapping  of  fingers,  jeering  faces  I  did  not  like  to 
look  at — though  many  petted  and  caressed  me.  But  then  I 
remembered  my  mother.  Even  at  first,  when  I  understood 
nothing,  I  shrunk  away  from  all  those  things  outside  me  into 
companionship  with  thoughts  that  were  not  like  them ;  and  I 
gathered  thoughts  very  fast,  because  I  read  many  things — 
plays  and  poetry,  Shakspeare  and  Schiller,  and  learned  evil  and 


BOOK  III. MAIDENS  CHOOSING.  219 

good.  My  father  began  to  believe  that  I  might  be  a  great 
singer :  my  voice  was  considered  wonderful  for  a  child ;  and 
he  had  the  best  teaching  for  me.  But  it  was  painful  that  he 
boasted  of  me,  and  set  me  to  sing  for  show  at  any  minute,  as 
if  I  had  been  a  musical  box. 

"Once,  when  I  was  ten  years  old,  I  played  the  part  of  a  little 
girl  who  had  been  forsaken  and  did  not  know  it,  and  sat  sing- 
ing to  herself  while  she  played  with  flowers.  I  did  it  without 
any  trouble  ;  but  the  clapping  and  all  the  sounds  of  the  theatre 
were  hateful  to  me  ;  and  I  never  liked  the  praise  I  had,  because 
it  seemed  all  very  hard  and  unloving :  I  missed  the  love  and 
the  trust  I  had  been  born  into.  I  made  a  life  in  my  own 
thoughts  quite  different  from  every  thing  about  me :  I  chose 
what  seemed  to  me  beautiful  out  of  the  plays  and  eyery  thing, 
and  made  my  world  out  of  it;  and  it  w^as  like  a  sharp  knife 
always  grazing  me  that  we  had  two  sorts  of  life  which  jarred 
so  with  each  other — women  looking  good  and  gentle  on  the 
stage,  and  saying  good  things  as  if  they  felt  them,  and  directly 
after  I  saw  them  with  coarse,  ugly  manners.  My  father  some- 
times noticed  my  shrinking  ways;  and  Signora  said  one  day, 
when  I  had  been  rehearsing,  '  She  will  never  be  an  artist :  she 
has  no  notion  of  being  any  body  but  herself.  That  does  very 
well  now,  but  by-and-by  you  will  see — she  will  have  no  more 
face  and  action  than  a  sino-ino^-bird.' 

"  My  father  was  angry,  and  they  quarreled.  I  sat  alone  and 
cried,  because  what  she  had  said  was  like  a  long,  unhappy  future 
unrolled  before  me.  I  did  not  want  to  be  an  artist ;  but  this 
was  what  my  father  expected  of  me.  After  a  while  Signora 
left  us,  and  a  governess  used  to  come  and  give  me  lessons  in 
different  things,  because  my  father  began  to  be  afraid  .of  my 
singing  too  much ;  but  I  still  acted  from  time  to  time.  Re- 
bellious feelings  grew  stronger  in  me,  and  I  wished  to  get 
away  from  this  life;  but  I  could  not  tell  where  to  go,  and  I 
dreaded  the  world.  Besides,  I  felt  it  would  be  wrong  to  leave 
my  father :  I  dreaded  doing  wrong,  for  I  thought  I  might  get 
wicked  and  hateful  to  myself,  in  the  same  way  that  many  oth- 
ers seemed  hateful  to  me.  For  so  long,  so  long,  I  had  never 
felt  my  outside  world  happy ;  and  if  I  got  wicked  I  should 
lose  my  world  of  happy  thoughts  where  my  mother  lived  with 


220  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

me.  That  was  my  cliildish  notion  all  through  those  years. 
Oh,  how  long  they  were  !" 

Mirah  fell  to  musing  again. 

"  Had  you  no  teaching  about  what  was  your  duty  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Meyrick.  She  did  not  like  to  say  "  religion  " — finding  her- 
self, on  inspection,  rather  dim  as  to  what  the  Hebrew  religion 
might  have  turned  into  at  this  date. 

"  No ;  only  that  I  ought  to  do  what  my  father  wished.  He 
did  not  follow  our  religion  at  New  York,  and  I  think  he  want- 
ed me  not  to  know  much  about  it.  But  because  my  mother 
used  to  take  me  to  the  synagogue,  and  I  remembered  sitting 
on  her  knee  and  looking  through  the  railing  and  hearing  the 
chanting  and  singing,  I  longed  to  go.  One  day,  when  I  was 
quite  small,  I  slipped  out  and  tried  to  find  the  synagogue,  but 
I  lost  myself  a  long  while,  till  a  peddler  questioned  me  and 
took  me  home.  My  father,  missing  me,  had  been  in  much 
fear,  and  was  very  angry.  I,  too,  had  been  so  frightened  at 
losing  myself  that  it  was  long  before  I  thought  of  venturing 
out  again.  But,  after  Signora  left  us,  we  went  to  rooms  where 
our  landlady  was  a  Jewess  and  observed  her  religion.  I  asked 
her  to  take  me  with  her  to  the  synagogue;  and  I  read  in  her 
prayer-books  and  Bible  ;  and  when  I  had  money  enough,  I  ask- 
ed her  to  buy  me  books  of  my  own,  for  these  books  seemed  a 
closer  companionship  with  my  mother :  I  knew  that  she  must 
have  looked  at  the  very  words  and  said  them.  In  that  way  I 
have  come  'to  know  a  little  of  our  religion,  and  the  history  of 
our  people,  besides  piecing  together  what  I  read  in  plays  and 
other  books  about  Jews  and  Jewesses ;  because  I  was  sure  that 
my  mother  obeyed  her  religion.  I  had  left  off  asking  my  fa- 
ther about  her.  It  is  very  dreadful  to  say  it,  but  I  began  to 
disbelieve  him.  I  had  found  that  he  did  not  always  tell  the 
truth,  and  made  promises  without  meaning  to  keep  them  ;  and 
that  raised  my  suspicion  that  my  mother  and  brother  were  still 
alive,  though  he  had  told  me  that  they  were  dead.  For,  in  go- 
ing over  the  past  again  and  again,  as  I  got  older  and  knew 
more,  I  felt  sure  that  my  mother  had  been  deceived,  and  had 
expected  to  see  us  back  again  after  a  very  little  while;  and 
my  father's  taking  me  on  his  knee,  and  telling  me  that  my 
mother  and  brother  were  both  dead,  seemed  to  me  now  nothing 


1 


BOOK  III. MAIDENS  CHOOSINO.  221 

but  a  bit  of  acting,  to  set  my  mind  at  rest.  Tbe  cruelty  of 
that  falsehood  sunk  into  me,  and  I  hated  all  untrutK  because 
of  it.  I  wrote  to  my  mother  secretly :  I  knew  the  street,  Col- 
man  Street,  where  we  lived,  and  that  it  was  near  Blackfriars 
Bridge  and  the  Coburg,  and  that  our  name  was  Cohen  then, 
though  my  father  called  us  Lapidoth,  because,  he  said,  it  was 
a  name  of  his  forefathers  in  Poland.  I  sent  my  letter  secret- 
ly ;  but  no  answer  came,  and  I  thought  there  was  no  hope  for 
me.  Our  life  in  America  did  not  last  much  longer.  My  fa- 
ther suddenly  told  me  we  were  to  pack  up  and  go  to  Hamburg, 
and  I  was  rather  glad.  I  hoped  we  might  get  among  a  differ- 
ent sort  of  people,  and  I  knew  German  quite  well — some  Ger- 
man plays  almost  all  by  heart.  My  father  spoke  it  better  than 
he  spoke  English.  I  was  thirteen  then,  and  I  seemed  to  my- 
self quite  old — I  knew  so  much,  and  yet  so  little.  I  think  oth- 
er children  can  not  feel  as  I  did.  I  had  often  wished  that  I 
had  been  drowned*  when  I  was  going  away  from  my  mother. 
But  I  set  myself  to  obey  and  suffer:  what  else  could  I  do? 
One  day,  when  we  Avere  on  our  voyage,  a  new  thought  came 
into  my  mind.  I  was  not  very  ill  that  time,  and  I  kept  on 
deck  a  good  deal.  My  father  acted  and  sung  and  joked  to 
amuse  people  on  board,  and  I  used  often  to  overhear  remarks 
about  him.  One  day,  when  I  was  looking  at  the  sea  and  no- 
body took  notice  of  me,  I  overheard  a  gentleman  say,  '  Oh,  he 
is  one  of  those  clever  Jews  —  a  rascal,  I  shouldn't  wonder. 
There's  no  race  like  them  for  cunning  in  the  men  and  beauty 
in  the  women.  I  wonder  what  market  he  means  that  daughter 
for.'  When  I  heard  this,  it  darted  into,  my  mind  that  the  un- 
happiness  in  my  life  came  from  my  being  a  Je-wess,  and  that 
always,  to  the  end,  the  world  would  think  slightly  of  me,  and 
that  I  must  bear  it,  for  I  should  be  judged  by  that  name ;  and 
it  comforted  me  to  believe  that  my  suffering  was  part  of  the 
affliction  of  my  people,  my  part  in  the  long  song  of  mourning 
that  has  been  going  on  through  ages  and  ages.  For  if  many 
of  our  race  were  wicked  and  made  merry  in  their  wickedness — 
what  was  that  but  part  of  the  affliction  borne  by  the  just 
among  them,  who  were  despised  for  the  sins  of  their  brethren  ? 
But  you  have  not  rejected  me." 

Mirah  had  changed  her  tone  in  this  last  sentence,  having 


222  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

suddenly  reflected  that  at  this  moment  she  had  reason  not  for 
complaint,  but  for  gratitude. 

"And  we  will  try  to  save  you  from  being  judged  unjustly  by 
others,  my  poor  child,"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick,  who  had  now  given 
up  all  attempt  at  going  on  with  her  work,  and  sat  listening 
with  folded  hands  and  a  face  hardly  less  eager  than  Mab's 
would  have  been,     ''  Go  on,  go  on  :  tell  me  all." 

"After  that  we  lived  in  different  towns — Hamburg  and  Vien- 
na the  longest.  I  began  to  study  singing  again,  and  my  father 
always  got  money  about  the  theatres.  I  think  he  brought 
a  good  deal  of  money  from  America :  I  never  knew  why  we 
left.  For  some  time  he  was  in  great  spirits  about  my  sing- 
ing, and  he  made  me  rehearse  parts  and  act  continually.  He 
looked  forward  to  my  coming  out  in  the  opera.  But  by-and- 
by  it  seemed  that  my  voice  would  never  be  strong  enough — it 
did  not  fulfill  its  promise.  My  master  at  Vienna  said, '  Don't 
strain  it  further :  it  will  never  do  for  the  public :  it  is  gold,  but 
a  thread  of  gold  -  dust.'  My  father  was  bitterly  disappointed : 
w^e  were  not  so  well  off  at  that  time.  I  think  I  have  not  quite 
told  you  what  I  felt  about  my  father.  I  knew  he  was  fond  of 
me  and  meant  to  indulge  me,  and  that  made  me  afraid  of  hurt- 
ing him ;  but  he  always  mistook  what  would  please  me  and 
give  me  happiness.  It  was  his  nature  to  take  every  thing 
lightly ;  and  I  soon  left  off  asking  him  any  question  about 
things  that  I  cared  for  much,  because  he  always  turned  them 
off  with  a  joke.  He  would  even  ridicule  our  own  people ;  and 
once,  when  he  had  been  imitating  their  movements  and  their 
tones  in  praying,  only  to  make  others  laugh,  I  could  not  re- 
strain myself — for  I  always  had  an  anger  in  ray  heart  about 
my  mother  —  and  when  we  were  alone  I  said,  '  Father,  you 
ought  not  to  mimic  our  own  people  before  Christians  who 
mock  them.  Would  it  not  be  bad  if  I  mimicked  you,  that 
they  might  mock  you  ?'  But  he  only  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  laughed  and  pinched  my  chin,  and  said, '  You  couldn't  do 
it,  my  dear.'  It  was  this  way  of  turning  off  every  thing  that 
made  a  great  wall  between  me  and  my  father,  and  whatever  I 
felt  most  I  took  the  most  care  to  hide  from  him.  For  there 
were  some  things  —  when  they  were  laughed  at  I  could  not 
bear  it :  the  world  seemed  like  a  hell  to  me.     Is  this  world 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  223 

and  all  the  life  upon  it  only  like  a  farce  or  a  vaudeville,  where 
you  find  no  great  meanings  ?  Why,  then,  are  there  tragedies 
and  grand  operas,  where  men  do  difficult  things  and  choose  to 
suffer?  I  think  it  is  silly  to  speak  of  all  things  as  a  joke. 
And  I  saw  that  his  wishing  me  to  sing  the  greatest  music,  and 
parts  in  grand  operas,  was  only  wishing  for  what  would  fetch 
the  greatest  price.  That  hemmed  in  my  gratitude  for  his  af- 
fectionateness,  and  the  tenderest  feeling  I  had  toward  him  was 
pity.  Yes,  I  did  sometimes  pity  him.  He  had  aged  and 
changed.  Now  he  was  no  longer  so  lively.  I  thought  he 
seemed  worse — less  good  to  others  and  to  me.  Every  now  and 
then  in  the  latter  years  his  gayety  went  away  suddenly,  and  he 
would  sit  at  home,  silent  and  gloomy ;  or  he  would  come  in 
and  fling  himself  down  and  sob,  just  as  I  have  done  myself 
when  I  have  been  in  trouble.  If  I  put  my  hand  on  his  knee 
and  said, '  What  is  the  matter,  father  V  he  would  make  no  an- 
swer, but  would  draw  my  arm  round  his  neck  and  put  his  arm 
round  me,  and  go  on  crying.  There  never  came  any  confi- 
dence between  us  ;  but  oh,  I  w^as  sorry  for  him  !  At  those  mo- 
ments I  knew  he  must  feel  his  life  bitter,  and  I  pressed  my 
cheek  against  his  head  and  prayed.  Those  moments  were 
what  most  bound  me  to  him ;  and  I  used  to  think  how  much 
my  mother  once  loved  him,  else  ^he  would  not  have  married 
him. 

"  But  soon  there  came  the  dreadful  time.  We  had  been  at 
Pesth,  and  we  came  back  to  Vienna.  In  spite  of  what  my 
master  Leo  had  said,  my  father  got  me  an  engagement,  not  at 
the  opera,  but  to  take  singing  parts  at  a  suburb  theatre  in  Vi- 
enna. He  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  theatre  then ;  I  did  not 
understand  what  he  did,  but  I  think  he  was  continually  at  a 
gambling-house,  though  he  was  careful  always  about  taking  me 
to  the  theatre.  I  was  very  miserable.  The  plays  I  acted  in 
were  detestable  to  me..  Men  came  about  us  and  wanted  to 
talk  to  me :  women  and  men  seemed  to  look  at  me  w^ith  a 
sneering  smile  :  it  was  no  better  than  a  fiery  furnace.  Perhaps 
I  make  it  worse  than  it  was — you  don't  know  that  life ;  but 
the  glare  and  the  faces,  and  my  havisg  to  go  on  and  act  and 
sing  what  I  hated,  and  then  see  people  who  came  to  stare  at  me 
behind  the  scenes — it  was  all  so  much  worse  than  when  I  was 


224  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

a  little  girl.  I  went  through  with  it ;  I  did  it ;  I  had  set  my 
mind  to  obey  my  father  and  work,  for  I  saw  nothing  better 
that  I  could  do.  But  I  felt  that  my  voice  was  getting  weaker, 
and  I  knew  that  my  acting  was  not  good  except  when  it  was 
not  really  acting ;  but  the  part  was  one  that  I  could  be  myself 
in,  and  some  feeling  within  me  carried  me  along.  That  was 
seldom. 

"  Then,  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  the  news  came  to  me  one 
morning  that  my  father  had  b^en  taken  to  prison,  and  he  had 
sent  for  me.  He  did  not  tell  me  the  reason  why  he  was  there, 
but  he  ordered  me  to  go  to  an  address  he  gave  me,  to  see  a 
count  who  would  be  able  to  get  him  released.  The  address 
was  to  some  public  rooms,  where  I  was  to  aslf  for  the  count, 
and  beg  him  to  come  to  my  father.  I  found  him,  and  recog- 
nized him  as  a  gentleman  whom  I  had  seen  the  other  night  for 
the  first  time  behind  the  scenes.  That  agitated  me,  for  I  re- 
membered his  way  of  looking  at  me  and  kissing  my  hand — I 
thought  it  was  in  mockery.  But  I  delivered  my  errand,  and  he 
promised  to  go  immediately  to  my  father,  who  came  home 
again  that  very  evening,  bringing  the  count  with  him.  I  now 
began  to  feel  a  horrible  dread  of  this  man,  for  he  worried  me 
with  his  attentions — his  eyes  were  always  on  me :  I  felt  sure  that 
Avhatever  else  there  might  be  in  his  mind  toward  me,  below  it 
all  there  was  scorn  for  the  Jewess  and  the  actress.  And  when 
he  came  to  me  the  next  day  in  the  theatre,  and  would  put  my 
shawl  round  me,  a  terror  took  hold  of  me ;  I  saw  that  my  fa- 
ther wanted  me  to  look  pleased.  The  count  was  neither  very 
young  nor  very  old :  his  hair  and  eyes  were  pale ;  he  was  tall 
and  walked  heavily,  and  his  face  was  heavy  and  grave,  except 
when  he  looked  at  me.  He  smiled  at  me,  and  his  smile  went 
through  me  with  horror  :  I  could  not  tell  why  he  was  so  much 
worse  to  me  than  other  men.  Some  feelings  are  like  our  hear- 
ing :  they  come  as  sounds  do,  before .  we  know  their  reason. 
My  father  talked  to  me  about  him  when  we  were  alone,  and 
praised  him  —  said  what  a  good  friend  he  had  been.  I  said 
nothing,  because  I  supposed  he  had  got  my  father  out  of  pris- 
on. When  the  count  came  again,  my  father  left  the  room. 
He  asked  me  if  I  liked  being  on  the  stage.  I  said  No ;  I  only 
acted  in  obedience  to  my  father.     He  always  spoke  French, 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.   •  225 

and  called  me  'petit  ange'  and  sucli  things,  which  I  felt  insult- 
ing. I  knew  he  meant  to  make  love  to  me,  and  I  had  it  firmly 
in  my  mind  that  a  nobleman  and  one  who  was  not  a  Jew  could 
have  no  love  for  me  that  was  not  half  contempt.  But  then  he 
told  me  that  I  need  not  act  any  longer ;  he  wished  me  to  visit 
him  at  his  beautiful  place,  where  I  might  be  queen  of  every 
thing.  It  was  difficult  to  me  to  speak,  I  felt  so  shaken  with 
anger :  I  could  only  say, '  I  would  rather  stay  on  the  stage  for- 
ever,' and  I  left  him  there.  Hurrying  out  of  the  room,  I  saw 
my  father  sauntering  in  the  passage.  My  heart  was  crushed. 
I  went  past  him  and  locked  myself  up.  It  had  sunk  into  me 
that  my  father  was  in  a  conspiracy  with  that  man  against  me. 
But  the  next  day  he  persuaded  me  to  come  out :  he  said  that 
I  had  mistaken  every  thing,  and  he  would  explain;  if  I  did 
not  come  out  and  act  and  fulfill*  my  engagement,  we.  should 
be  ruined,  and  he  must  starve.  So  I  went  on  acting,  and  for 
a  week -or  more  the  count  never  came  near  me.  My  father 
changed  our  lodgings,  and  kept  at  home  except  when  he  went 
to  the  theatre  with  me.  He  began  one  day  to  speak  discour- 
agingly  of  my  acting,  and  say  I  could  never  go  on  singing  in 
public — I  should  lose  my  voice — I  ought  to  think  of  my  fu- 
ture, and  not  put  my  nonsensical  feelings  between  me  and  my 
fortune.  He  said,  '  What  will  you  do  ?  You  will  be  brought 
down  to  sing  and  beg  at  people's  doors.  You  have  had  a 
splendid  offer,  and  ought  to  accept  it.'  I  could  not  speak :  a 
horror  took  possession  of  me  when  I  thought  of  my  mother 
and  of  him.  I  felt  for  the  first  time  that  I  should  not  do 
wrong  to  leave  him.  But  the  next  day  he  told  me  that  he  had 
put  an  end  to  my  engagement  at  the  theatre,  and  that  we  were 
to  go  to  Prague.  I  was  getting  suspicious  of  every  thing,  and 
my  will  was  hardening  to  act  against  him.  It  took  us  two  days 
to  pack  and  get  ready  ;  and  I  had  it  in  my  mind  that  I  might 
be  obliged  to  run  away  from  my  father,  and  then  I  would  come 
to  London  and  try  if  it  were  possible  to  find  my  mother.  I 
had  a  little  money,  and  I  sold  some  things  to  get  more.  I 
packed  a  few  clothes  in  a  little  bag  that  I  could  carry  with  me, 
and  I  kept  my  mind  on  the  watch.  My  father's  silence — his 
letting  drop  that  subject  of  the  count's  offer — made  me  feel 
sure  that  there  was  a  plan  against  me.     I  felt  as  if  it  had  been 

10* 


226  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

a  plan  to  take  me  to  a  mad-liouse.  I  once  saw  a  picture  of 
a  mad-house  that  I  could  never  forget ;  it  seemed  to  me  very- 
much  like  some  of  the  life  I  had  seen — the  people  strutting, 
quarreling,  leering  —  the  faces  with  cunning  and  malice  in 
them.  It  was  my  will  to  keep  myself  from  wickedness  ;  and  I 
prayed  for  help.  I  had  seen  what  despised  women  were  ;  and 
my  heart  turned  against  my  father,  for  I  saw  always  behind  him 
that  man  who  made  me  shudder.  You  will  think  I  had  not 
enough  reason  for  my  suspicions,  and  perhaps  I  had  not,  outside 
my  own  feeling;  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  my  mind  had  been 
lighted  up,  and  all  that  might  be  stood  out  clear  and  sharp.  If 
I  slept,  it  was  only  to  see  the  same  sort  of  things,  and  I  could 
hardly  sleep  at  all.  Through  our  journey  I  was  everywhere  on 
the  watch.  I  don't  know  why  ;  but  it  came  before  me  like  a  real 
event,  that  my  father  would"  suddenly  leave  me,  and  I  should 
find  myself  with  the  count  where  I  could  not  get  away  from 
him.  I  thought  God  was  warning  me :  my  mother's  voice  was 
in  my  soul.,  It  was  dark  when  we  reached  Prague ;  and  though 
the  strange  bunches  of  lamps  were  lighted,  it  was  difficult  to  dis- 
tinguish faces  as  we  drove  along  the  street.  My  father  chose 
to  sit  outside — he  was  always  smoking  now — and  I  watched 
every  thing  in  spite  of  the  darkness.  I  do  believe  I  could  see 
better  then  than  ever  I  did  before :  the  strange  clearness  with- 
in seemed  to  have  got  outside  me.  It  was  not  my  habit  to 
notice  faces  and  figures  much  in  the  street ;  but  this  night  I 
saw  every  one ;  and  when  we  passed  before  a  great  hotel  I 
caught  sight  only  of  a  back  that  was  passing  in — the  light  of 
the  great  bunch  of  lamps  a  good  way  off  fell  on  it.  I  knew 
it — before  the  face  was  turned,  as  it  fell  into  shadow,  I  knew 
who  it  was.  Help  came  to  me.  I  feel  sure  help  came  to  me. 
I  did  not  sleep  that  night.  I  put  on  my  plainest  things — the 
cloak  and  hat  I  have  worn  ever  since ;  and  I  sat  watching  for 
the  light  and  the  sound  of  the  doors  being  unbarred.  Some 
one  rose  early — at  four  o'clock,  to  go  to  the  railway.  That 
gave  me  courage.  I  slipped  out  with  my  little  bag  under  my 
cloak,  and  none  noticed  me.  I  had  been  a  long  while  attending 
to  the  railway  guide  that  I  might  learn  the  way  to  England ; 
and  before  the  sun  had  risen  I  was  in  the  train  for  Dresden. 
Then  I  cried  for  joy.     I  did  not  know  whether  my  money 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  227 

would  last  out,  but  I  trusted.  I  could  sell  the  things  in  my 
bag,  and  the  little  rings  in  my  ears,  and  I  could  live  on  bread 
only.  My  only  terror  was  lest  my  father  should  follow  me. 
But  I  never  paused.  I  came  on,  and  on,  and  on,  only  eating 
bread  now  and  then.  AYhen  I  got  to  Brussels  I  saw  that  I 
should  not  have  enough  money,  and  I  sold  all  that  I  could  sell ; 
but  here  a  strange  thing  happened.  Putting  my  hand  into  the 
pocket  of  my  cloak,  I  found  a  half-napoleon.  Wondering  and 
wondering  how  it  came  there,  I  remembered  that  on  the  way 
from  Cologne  there  was  a  young  workman  sitting  against  me. 
I  was  frightened  at  every  one,  and  did  not  like  to  be  spoken  to. 
At  first  he  tried  to  talk,  but  when  he  saw  that  I  did  not  like  it, 
he  left  off.  It  was  a  long  journey ;  I  eat  nothing  but  a  bit  of 
bread,  and  he  once  offered  me  some  of  the  food  he  brought  in, 
but  I  refused  it.  I  do  believe  it  was  he  who  put  that  bit  of 
gold  in  my  pocket.  Without  it  I  could  hardly  have  got  to  Do- 
ver, and  I  did  walk  a  good  deal  of  the  way  from  Dover  to  Lon- 
don. I  knew  I  should  look  like  a  miserable  beggar-girl.  I 
wanted  not  to  look  very  miserable,  because  if  I  found  my  moth- 
er, it  would  grieve  her  to  see  me  so.  But  oh,  how  vain  my  hope 
was  that  she  would  be  there  to  see  me  come  !  As  soon  as  I  set 
foot  in  London,  I  began  to  ask  for  Lambeth  and  Blackfriars 
Bridge,  but  they  were  a  long  way  off,  and  I  went  wrong.  At 
last  I  got  to  Blackfriars  Bridge  and  asked  for  Colman  Street. 
People  shook  their  heads.  None  knew  it.  I  saw  it  in  my 
mind — our  doorsteps,  and  the  white  tiles  hung  in  the  windows, 
and  the  large  brick  building  opposite  with  wide  doors.  But 
there  was  nothing  like  it.  At  last  when  I  asked  a  tradesman 
where  the  Coburg  Theatre  and  Colman  Street  were,  he  said, "  Oh, 
my  little  woman,  that's  all  done  away  with.  The  old  streets 
have  been  pulled  down ;  every  thing  is  new."  I  turned  away, 
and  felt  as  if  death  had  laid  a  hand  on  me.  He  said :  ^'  Stop, 
stop !  young  woman ;  what  is  it  you're  wanting  with  Colman 
Street,  eh  ?"  meaning  well,  perhaps.  But  his  tone  was  what  I 
could  not  bear ;  and  how  could  I  tell  him  what  I  wanted  ?  I 
felt  blinded  and  bewildered  with  a  sudden  shock.  I  suddenly 
felt  that  I  was  very  weak  and  weary,  and  yet  where  could  I  go  ? 
for  I  looked  so  poor  and  dusty,  and  had  nothing  with  me  —  I 
looked  like  a  street-beggar.     And  I  was  afraid  of  all  places 


228  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

where  I  could  enter.     I  lost  my  trust.     I  thought  I  was  for- 
saken.    It  seemed  that  I  had  been  in  a  fever  of  hope — delirious 
— all  the  way  from  Prague :  I  thought  that  I  was  helped,  and  I 
did  nothing  but  strain  my  mind  forward  and  think  of  finding 
my  mother ;  and  now — there  I  stood  in  a  strange  world.     All 
who  saw  me  would  think  ill  of  me,  and  I  must  herd  with  beg- 
gars.    I  stood  on  the  bridge  and  looked  along  the  river.     Peo- 
ple were  going  on  to  a  steamboat.     Many  of  them  seemed  poor, 
and  I  felt  as  if  it  would  be  a  refuge  to  get  away  from  the  streets : 
perhaps  the  boat  would  take  me  where  I  could  soon  get  into  a 
solitude.     I  had  still  some  pence  left,  and  I  bought  a  loaf  when 
I  went  on  the  boat.     I  wanted  to  have  a  little  time  and  strength 
to  think  of  life  and  death.     How  could  I  live?     And  now 
again  it  seemed  that  if  ever  I  were  to  find  my  mother  again, 
death  was  the  way  to  her.     I  eat,  that  I  might  have  strength 
to  think.     The  boat  set  me  down  at  a  place  along  the  river — 
I  don't  know  where — and  it  was  late  in  the  evening.     I  found 
some  large  trees  apart  from  the  road,  and  I  sat  down  under 
them  that  I  might  rest  through  the  night.     Sleep  must  have 
soon  come  to  me,  and  when  I  awoke  it  was  morning.     The 
birds  were  singing,  the  dew  was  white  about  me ;  I  felt  chill 
and;- oh,  so  lonely  !     I  got  up  and  walked  and  followed  the  river 
a  long  way,  and  then  turned  back  again.     There  was  no  reason 
why  I  should  go  anywhere.     The  world  about  me  seemed  like 
a  vision  that  was  hurrying  by  while  I  stood  still  with  my  pain. 
My  thoughts  were  stronger  than  I  was:  they  rushed  in  and 
forced  me  to  see  all  my  life  from  the  beginning.     Ever  since  I 
was  carried  away  from  my  mother  I  had  felt  myself  a  lost  child 
taken  up  and  used  by  strangers,  who  did  not  care  what  my  life 
was  to  me,  but  only  what  I  could  do  for  them.     It  seemed  all 
a  weary  wandering  and  heart-loneliness — as  if  I  had  been  forced 
to  go  to  merry-makings  without  the  expectation  of  joy.     And 
now  it  was  worse.     I  was  lost  again,  and  I  dreaded  lest  any 
stranger  should  notice  me  and  speak  to  me.     I  had  a  terror  of 
the  world.     None  knew  me;  all  would  mistake  me.     I  had 
seen  so  many  in  my  life  who  made  themselves  glad  with  scorn- 
ing, and  laughed  at  another's  shame.     What  could  I  do  ?     This 
life  seemed  to  be  closing  in  upon  me  with  a  wall  of  fire — every- 
>vhere  there  was  scorching  that  rpade  me  shrink,     The  hjgh 


BOOK  III. MAIDENS  CHOOSING.  229 

sunlight  made  me  shrink.  And  I  began  to  think  that  my  de- 
spair was  the  voice  of  God  telling  me  to  die.  But  it  would  take 
me  long  to  die  of  hunger.  Then  I  thought  of  my  People,  how 
they  had  been  driven  from  land  to  land  and  been  afflicted,  and 
multitudes  had  died  of  misery  in  their  wandering — was  I  the 
first  ?  And  in  the  wars  and  troubles  when  Christians  were  cm- 
elest,  our  fathers  had  sometimes  slain  their  children  and  after- 
ward themselves ;  it  was  to  save  them  from  being  false  apostates. 
That  seemed  to  make  it  right  for  me  to  put  an  end  to  my  life ; 
for  calamity  had  closed  me  in  too,  and  I  saw  no  pathway  but 
to  evil.  But  my  mind  got  into  war  with  itself,  for  there  were 
contrary  things  in  it.  I  knew  that  some  had  held  it  wrong 
to  hasten  their  own  death,  though  they  w^ere  in  the  midst  of 
flames  ;  and  while  I  had  some  strength  left,  it  was  a  longing  to 
bear  if  I  ought  to  bear — else  where  was  the  good  of  all  my  life  ? 
It  had  not  been  happy  since  the  first  years:  when  the  light 
came  every  morning,  I  used  to  think,  *  I  will  bear  it.'  But  al- 
ways before,  I  had  some  hope ;  now  it  was  gone.  With  these 
thoughts  I  wandered  and  wandered,  inwardly  crying  to  the 
Most  High,  from  whom  I  should  not  flee  in  death  more  than  in 
life — though  I  had  no  strong  faith  that  He  cared  for  me.  The 
strength  seemed  departing  from  my  soul :  deep  below  all  my 
cries  was  the  feeling  that  I  was  alone  and  forsaken.  The  more 
I  thought,  the  wearier  I  got,  till  it  seemed  I  was  not  thinking 
at  all,  but  only  the  sky  and  the  river  and  the  Eternal  God  were 
in  my  soul.  And  what  was  it  whether  I  died  or  lived  ?  If  I 
lay  down  to  die  in  the  river,  was  it  more  than  lying  down  to 
sleep  ? — for,  there  too,  I  committed  my  soul — I  gave  myself  up. 
I  could  not  hear  memories  any  more ;  I  could  only  feel  what 
was  present  in  me — it  was  all  one  longing  to  cease  from  my 
weary  life,  which  seemed  only  a  pain  outside  the  great  peace 
that  I  might  enter  into.  That  was  how  it  was.  When  the 
evening  came  and  the  sun  was  gone,  it  seemed  as  if  that  were 
all  I  had  to  wait  for.  And  a  new  strength  came  into  me  to  will 
what  I  would  do.  You  know  what  I  did.  I  was  going  to  die. 
You  know  what  happened — did  he  not  tell  you  ?  Faith  came  to 
me  again :  I  was  not  forsaken.  He  told  you  how  he  found  me  ?" 
Mrs.  Meyrick  gave  no  audible  answer,  but  pressed  her  lips 
acrainst  Mirah's  forehead. 


230  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  She's  just  d  pearl ;  the  mud  has  only  washed  her,"  was  the 
fervid  little  woman's  closing  commentary  when,  tete-a-tete  with 
Deronda  in  the  back  parlor  that  evening,  she  had  conveyed 
Mirah's  story  to  him  with  much  vividness. 

"  What  is  your  feeling  about  a  search  for  this  mother  ?"  said 
Deronda.     "  Have  you  no  fears  ?     I  have,  I  confess." 

"  Oh,  I  believe  the  mother's  good,"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick,  with 
rapid  decisiveness.  "  Or  was  good.  She  may  be  dead — that's 
my  fear.  A  good  woman,  you  may  depend ;  you  may  know  it 
by  the  scoundrel  the  father  is.  Where  did  the  child  get  her 
goodness  from  ?     Wheaten  flour  has  to  be  accounted  for." 

Deronda  was  rather  disappointed  at  this  answer;  he  had 
wanted  a  confirmation  of  his  own  judgment,  and  he  began  to 
put  in  demurrers.  The  argument  about  the  mother  would  not 
apply  to  the  brother ;  and  Mrs.  Meyrick  admitted  that  the 
brother  might  be  an  ugly  likeness  of  the  father.  Then,  as  to 
advertising,  if  the  name  was  Cohen,  you  might  as  well  adver- 
tise for  two  undescribed  terriers  :  and  here  Mrs.  Meyrick  helped 
him,  for  the  idea  of  an  advertisement,  already  mentioned  to 
Mirah,  had  roused  the  poor  child's  terror :  she  was  convinced 
that  her  father  would  see  it — he  saw  every  thing  in  the  papers. 
Certainly  there  were  safer  means  than  advertising :  men  might 
be  set  to  work  whose  business  it  was  to  find  missing  persons ; 
but  Deronda  wished  Mrs.  Meyrick  to  feel  with  him  that  it  would 
be  wiser  to  wait,  before  seeking  a  dubious,  perhaps  a  deplora- 
ble, result ;  especially  as  he  was  engaged  to  go  abroad  the  next 
week  for  a  couple  of  months.  If  a  search  were  made,  he  would 
like  to  be  at  hand,  so  that  Mrs.  Meyrick  might  not  be  unaided 
in  meeting  any  consequences — supposing  that  she  would  gener- 
ously continue  to  watch  over  Mirah. 

"  We  should  be  very  jealous  of  any  one  who  took  the  task 
from  us,"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick.  "  She  will  stay  under  my  roof : 
there  is  Hans's  old  room  for  her." 

"  Will  she  be  content  to  wait  ?"  said  Deronda,  anxiously. 

"  No  trouble  there !  It  is  not  her  nature  to  run  into  plan- 
ning and  devising ;  only  to  submit.  See  how  she  submitted  to 
that  father.  It  was  a  wonder  to  herself  how  she  found  the 
will  and  contrivance  to  run  away  from  him.  About  finding 
her  mother,  her  only  notion  now  is  to  trust :   since  you  were 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  231 

sent  to  save  her  and  we  are  good  to  her,  she  trusts  that  her 
mother  will  be  found  in  the  same  unsought  way.  And  Avhen 
she  is  talking  I  catch  her  feeling  like  a  child." 

Mrs.  Meyrick  hoped  that  the  sum  Deronda  put  into  her 
hands  as  a  provision  for  Mirah's  wants  was  more  than  would 
be  needed  :  after  a  little  while  Mirah  would,  perhaps,  like  to  oc- 
cupy herself  as  the  other  girls  did,  and  make  herself  independ- 
ent.    Deronda  pleaded  that  she  must  need  a  long  rest. 

"  Oh  yes ;  we  will  hurry  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick. 
"  Rely  upon  it,  she  shall  be  taken  tender  care  of.  If  you  like 
to  give  me  your  address  abroad,  I  will  write  to  let  you  know 
how  we  get  on.  It  is  not  fair  that  we  should  have  all  the 
pleasure  of  her  salvation  to  ourselves.  And,  besides,  I  want 
to  make  believe  that  I  am  doing  something  for  you  as  well  as 
for  Mirah." 

"  That  is  no  make-believe.  What  should  I  have  done  with- 
out you  last  night  ?  Every  thing  would  have  gone  wrong.  I 
shall  tell  Hans  that  the  best  of  having  him  for  a  friend  is  know- 
ing his  mother." 

After  that  they  joined  the  girls  in  the  cfther  room,  where 
Mirah  was  seated  placidly,  w^iile  the  others  were  telling  her 
what  they  knew  about  Mr.  Deronda — his  goodness  to  Hans, 
and  all  the  virtues  that  Hans  had  reported  of  him. 

"  Kate  burns  a  pastil  before  his  portrait. every  day,"  said  Mab. 
"And  I  carry  his  signature  in  a  little  black -silk  bag  round 
my  neck  to  keep  off  the  cramp.  And  Amy  says  the  multipli- 
cation-table in  his  name.  We  must  all  do  something  extra  in 
honor  of  him,  now  he  has  brought  you  tO'-us." 

"  I  suppose  he  is  too  great  a  person  to  want  any  thing,"  said 
Mirah,  smiling  at  Mab,  and  appealing  to  the  graver  Amy. 
"He  is  perhaps  very  high  in  the  world?" 

"  He  is  very  much  above  us  in  rank,"  said  Amy.  "  He  is 
related  to  grand  people.  I  dare  say  he  leans  on  some  of  the 
satin  cushions  we  prick  our  fingers  over." 

"  I  am  glad  he  is  of  high  rank,"  said  Mirah,  with  her  usual 
quietness. 

"  Now,  why  are  you  glad  of  that  ?"  said  Amy,  rather  suspi- 
cious of  this  sentiment,  and  on  the  watch  for  Jewish  peculiari- 
ties which  had  not  appeared. 


232  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  Because  I  have  always  disliked  men  of  high  rank  before." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Deronda  is  not  so  very  high  !"  said  Kate.  "  He 
need  not  hinder  us  from  thinking  ill  of  the  whole  peerage  and 
baronetage  if  we  like." 

When  he  entered,  Mirah  rose 'with  the  same  look  of  grateful 
reverence  that  she  had  lifted  to  him  the  evening  before :  im- 
possible to  see  a  creature  freer  at  once  from  embarrassment  and 
boldness.  Her  theatrical  training  had  left  no  recognizable 
trace  ;  probably  her  manners  had  not  much  changed  since  she 
played  the  forsaken  child  at  nine  years  of  age ;  and  she  had 
grown  up  in  her  simplicity  and  truthfulness  like  a  little  flower- 
seed  that  absorbs  the  chance  confusion  of  its  surroundings  into 
its  own  definite  mold  of  beauty.  Deronda  felt  that  he  was 
making  acquaintance  with  something  quite  new  to  him  in  the 
form  of  w^omanhood.  For  Mirah  was  not  child -like  from  ig- 
norance :  her  experience  of  evil  and  trouble  was  deeper  and 
stranger  than  his  own.  He  felt  inclined  to  watch  her  and  list- 
en to  her  as  if  she  had  come  from  a  far-off  shore  inhabited  by 
a  race  different  from  our  own. 

But  for  that  very  reason  he  made  his  visit  brief  :  with  his 
usual  activity  of  imagination  as  to  how  his  conduct  might  af- 
fect others,  he  shrunk  from  what  might  seem  like  curiosity,  or 
the  assumption  of  a  right  to  know  as  much  as  he  pleased  of 
one  to  whom  he  had  done  a  service.  For  example,  he  would 
have  liked  to  hear  her  sing,  but  he  would  have  felt  the  expres- 
sion of  such  a  wish  to  be  a  rudeness  in  him — since  she  could 
not  refuse,  and  he  would  all  the  while  have  a  sense  that  she 
was  being  treated  like  one  whose  accomplishments  were  to  be 
ready  on  demand.  And  whatever  reverence  could  be  shown  to 
woman,  he  was  bent  on  showing  to  this  girl.  Why  ?  He  gave 
himself  several  good  reasons;  but  whatever  one  does  with. a 
strong  unhesitating  outflow  of  will,  has  a  store  of  motive  that 
it  would  be  hard  to  put  into  words.  Some  deeds  seem  little 
more  than  interjections  which  give  vent  to  the  long  passion  of 
a  life. 

So  Deronda  soon  took  his  farewell  for  the  two  months  dur- 
ing which  he  expected  to  be  absent  from  London,  and  in  a 
few  days  he  was  on  his  way  with  Sir  Hugo  and  Lady  Mallin- 
srer  to  Leubronn. 


DOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  233 

He  had  fulfilled  his  intention  of  telling  them  about  Mirah. 
The  baronet  was  decidedly  of  opinion  that  the  search  for  the 
mother  and  brother  had  better  be  let  alone.  Lady  Mallinger 
was  much  interested  in  the  poor  girl,  observing  that  there  was 
a  Society  for  the  Conversion  of  the  Jews,  and  that  it  was  to  be 
hoped  Mirah  would  embrace  Christianity ;  but,  perceiving  that 
Sir  Hugo  looked  at  her  with  amusement,  she  concluded  that 
she  had  said  something  foolish.  Lady  Mallinger  felt  apologet- 
ically about  herself  as  a  woman  who  had  produced  nothing  but 
daughters  in  a  case  where  sons  were  required,  and  hence  re- 
garded the  apparent  contradictions  of  the  world  as  probably 
due  to  the  weakness  of  her  own  understanding.  But  when  she 
was  much  puzzled,  it  was  her  habit  to  say  to  herself,  "  I  will 
ask  Daniel."  Deronda  was  altogether  a  convenience  in  the 
family ;  and  Sir  Hugo,  too,  after  intending  to  do  the  best  for 
him,  had  begun  to  feel  that  the  pleasantest  result  would  be  to 
have  this  substitute  for  a  son  always  ready  at  his  elbow. 

This  was  the  history  of  Deronda,  so  far  as  he  knew  it,  up  to 
the  time  of  that  visit  to  Leubronn  in  which  he  saw  Gwendolen 
Harleth  at  the  gaming-table. 


CHAPTER  XXL 


"It  is  a  common  sentence  that  Knowledge  is  power;  but  who  hath  duly 
considered  or  set  forth  the  power  of  Ignorance  ?  Knowledge  slowly  builds 
up  what  Ignorance  in  an  hour  pulls  down.  Knowledge,  through  .patient 
and  frugal  centuries,  enlarges  discovery  and  makes  record  of  it ;  Igno- 
rance, wanting  its  day's  dinner,  Ughts  a  fire  with  the  record,  and  gives  a 
flavor  to  its  one  roast  with  the  burned  souls  of  many  generations.  Knowl- 
edge, instructing  the  sense,  refining  and  multiplying  needs,  transforms  it- 
self into  skill,  and  makes  life  various  with  a  new  six  days'  work ;  comes 
Ignorance  drunk,  on  the  seventh,  with  a  firkin  of  oil  and  a  match  and  an 
easy  'Let  there  not  be' — and  the  many-colored  creation  is  shriveled  up  in 
blackness.  Of  a  truth.  Knowledge  i*  power,  but  it  is  a  power  reined  by 
scruple,  having  a  conscience  of  what  must  be  and  what  may  be ;  whereas 
Ignorance  is  a  blind  giant  who,  let  him  but  wax  unbound,  would  make  it 
a  sport  to  seize  the  pillars  that  hold  up  the  long-wrought  fabric  of  human 
good,  and  turn  all  the  places  of  joy  dark  as  a  buried  Babylon.  And  look- 
ing at  life  parcel-wise,  in  the  growth  of  a  single  lot,  who  having  a  practiced 
vision  may  not  see  that  ignorance  of  the  true  bond  between  events,  and 


234  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

false  conceit  of  means  whereby  sequences  may  be  compelled — like  that 
falsity  of  eye-sight  which  overlooks  the  gradations  of  distance,  seeing  that 
which  is  afar  off  as  if  it  were  within  a  step  or  a  grasp — precipitates  the 
mistaken  soul  on  destruction  ?" 

It  was  half-past  ten  in  tlie  morning  when  Gwendolen  Harleth, 
after  her  gloomy  journey  from  Leubronn,  arrived  at  the  sta- 
tion from  which  she  must  drive  to  Offendene.  No  carriage  or 
friend  was  awaiting  her,  for  in  the  telegram  she  had  sent  from 
Dover  she  had  mentioned  a  later  train,  and  in  her  impatience 
of  lingering  at  a  London  station  she  had  set  off  without  pict- 
uring what  it  would  be  to  arrive  unannounced  at  half  an 
hour's  drive  from  home — at  one  of  those  stations  which  have 
been  fixed  on  not  as  near  anywhere,  but  as  equidistant  from 
everywhere.  Deposited  as  2^  feme  sole  with  her  large  trunks, 
and  having  to  wait  while  a  vehicle  was  being  got  from  the  large- 
sized  lantern  called  the  Railway  Inn,  Gwendolen  felt  that  the 
dirty  paint  in  the  waiting-room,  the  dusty  decanter  of  flat  wa- 
ter, and  the  texts  in  large  letters  calling  on  her  to  repent  and 
be  converted,  were  part  of  the  dreary  prospect  opened  by  her 
family  troubles ;  and  she  hurried  away  to  the  outer  door,  look- 
ino-  toward  the  lane  and  fields.  But  here  the  very  gleams  of 
sunshine  seemed  melancholy,  for  the  autumnal  leaves  and  grass 
were  shivering,  and  the  wind  was  turning  up  the  feathers  of  a 
cock  and  two  croaking  hens  which  had  doubtless  parted  with 
their  grown-up  offspring,  and  did  not  know  what  to  do  with 
themselves.  The  railway  official  also  seemed  without  re- 
sources, and  his  innocent  demeanor  in  observing  Gwendolen 
and  her  trunks  was  rendered  intolerable  by  the  cast  in  his  eye  ; 
especially  since,  being  a  new  man,  he  did  not  know  her,  and 
must  conclude  that  she  was  not  very  high  in  the  world.  The 
vehicle — a  dirty  old  barouche — was  within  sight,  and  was  be- 
ing slowly  prepared  by  an  elderly  laborer.  Contemptible  de- 
tails these,  to  make  part  of  a  history ;  yet  the  turn  of  most 
lives  is  hardly  to  be  accounted  for  without  them.  They  are 
continually  entering  with  cumulative  force  into  a  mood  un- 
til it  gets  the  mass  and  momentum  of  a  theory  or  a  motive. 
Even  philosophy  is  not  quite  free  from  such  determining  in- 
fluences ;  and  to  be  dropped  solitary  at  an  ugly,  irrelevant- 
looking  spot  with  a  sense  of  no  income  on  the  mind,  might 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSIXO.  235 

well  prompt  a  man  to  discouraging  speculation  on  the  origin 
of  things  and  the  reason  of  a  world  where  a  subtle  thinker 
found  himself  so  badly  off.  How  much  more  might  such 
trifles  tell  on  a  young  lady  equipped  for  society  with  a  fastid- 
ious taste,  an  Indian  shawl  over  her  arm,  some  ten  cubic  feet  of 
trunks  by  her  side,  and  a  mortal  dislike  to  the  new  conscious- 
ness of  poverty  which  was  stimulating  her  imagination  of  dis- 
agreeables ?  At  any  rate,  they  told  heavily  on  poor  Gwendolen, 
and  helped  to  quell  her  resistant  spirit.  What  was  the  good 
of  living  in  the  midst  of  hardships,  ugliness,  and  humiliation  ? 
This  was  the  beginning  of  being  at  home  again,  and  it  was  a 
sample  of  what  she  had  to  expect. 

Here  was  the  theme  on  which  her  discontent  rung  its  sad 
changes  during  her  slow  drive  in  the  uneasy  barouche,  with  one 
great  trunk  squeezing  the  meek  driver,  and  the  other  fastened 
w^ith  a  rope  on  the  seat  in  front  of  her.  Her  ruling  vision  all 
the  way  from  Leubronn  had  been  that  the  family  would  go 
abroad  again ;  for,  of  course,  there  must  be  some  little  income 
left — her  mamma  did  not  mean  that  they  would  have  literally 
nothing.  To  go  to  a  dull  place  abroad  and  live  poorly  was  the 
dismal  future  that  threatened  her  :  she  had  seen  plenty  of  poor 
English  people  abroad,  and  imagined  herself  plunged  in  the  de- 
spised dullness  of  their  ill  -  plenished  lives,  with  x\lice.  Bertha, 
Fanny,  and  Isabel  all  growing  up  in  tediousness  around  her, 
while  she  advanced  toward  thirty,  and  her  mamma  got  more 
and  more  melancholy.  But  she  did  not  mean  to  submit,  and 
let  misfortune  do  what  it  would  with  her:  she  had  not  yet 
quite  believed  in  the  misfortune  ;  but  weariness,  and  disgust 
with  this  wretched  arrival,  had  begun  to  affect  her  like  an  un- 
comfortable waking,  worse  than  the  uneasy  dreams  which  had 
gone  before.  The  self-delight  with  which  she  had  kissed  her 
image  in  the  glass  had  faded  before  the  sense  of  futility  in  be- 
ing any  thing  whatever — charming,  clever,  resolute :  what  was 
the  good  of  it  all  ?  Events  might  turn  out  anyhow,  and  men 
were  hateful.  Yes,  men  were  hateful.  Those  few  words  were 
filled  out  with  very  vivid  memories.  But  in  these  last  hours  a 
certain  chano;e  had  come  over  their  meanino;.  It  is  one  thins: 
to  hate  stolen  goods,  and  another  thing  to  hate  them  the  more 
because  their  being  stolen  hinders  us  from  making  use  of  them. 


236  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Gwendolen  had  begun  to  be  angry  with  Grandcourt  for  being 
what  had  hindered  her  from  marrying  him,  angry  with  him  as 
the  cause  of  her  present  dreary  lot. 

But  the  slow  drive  was  nearly  at  an  end,  and  the  lumbering 
vehicle  coming  up  the  avenue  was  within  sight  of  the  windows. 
A  figure  appearing  under  the  portico  brought  a  rush  of  new 
and  less  selfish  feeling  in  Gwendolen,  and  when,  springing  from 
the  carriage,  she  saw  the  dear  beautiful  face  with  fresh  lines  of 
sadness  in  it,  she  threw  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck,  and 
for  the  moment  felt  all  sorrows  only  in  relation  to  her  mother's 
feeling  about  them. 

Behind,  of  course,  were  the  sad  faces  of  the  four  superfluous 
girls ;  each,  poor  thing !  like  those  other  many  thousand  sisters 
of  us  all,  having  her  peculiar  world,  which  was  of  no  impor- 
tance to  any  one  else,  but  all  of  them  feeling  Gwendolen's  pres- 
ence to  be  somehow  a  relenting  of  misfortune.  Where  Gwen- 
dolen was,  something  interesting  would  happen.  Even  her  hur- 
ried submission  to  their  kisses,  and  "  Now  go  away,  girls,"  car- 
ried the  sort  of  comfort  which  all  weakness  finds  in  decision 
and  authoritativeness.  Good  Miss  Merry,  whose  air  of  meek 
depression,  hitherto  held  unaccountable  in  a  governess  affection- 
ately attached  to  the  family,  was  now  at  the  general  level  of 
circumstances,  did  not  expect  any  greeting,  but  busied  herself 
with  the  trunks  and  the  coachman's  pay ;  while  Mrs.  Davilow 
and  Gwendolen  hastened  upstairs  and  shut  themselves  in  the 
black-and-yellow  bedroom. 

"  Never  mind,  mamma  dear,"  said  Gwendolen,  tenderly  press- 
ing her  handkerchief  against  the  tears  that  were  rolling  down 
Mrs.  Davilow's  cheeks.  "  Never  mind.  I  don't  mind.  I  will 
do  something.  I  will  be  something.  Things  will  come  right. 
It  seemed  worse  because  I  was  away.  Come  now !  you  must 
be  glad  because  I  am  here." 

Gwendolen  felt  every  word  of  that  speech.  A  rush  of  com- 
passionate tenderness  stirred  all  her  capability  of  generous  res- 
olution ;  and  the  self-confident  projects  which  had  vaguely 
glanced  before  her  during  her  journey  sprung  instantaneous- 
ly into  new  definiteness.  Suddenly  she  seemed  to  perceive 
how  she  could  be  "  somethino;."  It  was  one  of  her  best  mo- 
ments,  and  the   fond   mother,  forgetting   every  thing  below 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  237 

that  tide -mark,  looked  at  her  with  a  sort  of  adoration.  She 
said, 

"  Bless  you,  my  good,  good  darling !  I  can  be  happy,  if  you 
can !" 

But  later  in  the  day  there  was  an  ebb ;  the  old  slippery 
rocks,  the  old  weedy  places,  re-appeared.  Naturally,  there  was 
a  shrinkino;  of  courao;e  as  misfortune  ceased  to  be  a  mere  an- 
nouncement,  and  began  to  disclose  itself  as  a  grievous,  tyran- 
nical inmate.  At  first — that  ugly  drive  at  an  end — it  was  still 
Offendene  that  Gwendolen  had  come  home  to,  and  all  surround- 
ings of  immediate  consequence  to  her  were  still  there  to  secure 
her  personal  ease  :  the  roomy  stillness  of  the  large  solid  house 
while  she  rested ;  all  the  luxuries  of  her  toilet  cared  for  with- 
out trouble  to  her;  and  a  little  tray  with  her  favorite  food 
brought  to  her  in  private.  For  she  had  said,  "  Keep  them  all 
away  from  us  to-day,  mamma.  Let  you  and  me  be  alone  to- 
gether." 

When  Gwendolen  came  down  into  the  drawing-room,  fresh 
as  a  newly  dipped  swan,  and  sat  leaning  against  the  cushions 
of  the  settee  beside  her  mamma,  their  misfortune  had  not  yet 
turned  its  face  and  breath  upon  her.  She  felt  prepared  to  hear 
every  thing,  and  began,  in  a  tone  of  deliberate  intention, 

"  What  have  you  thought  of  doing  exactly,  mamma  ?" 

^'  Oh,  my  dear,  the  next  thing  to  be  done  is  to  move  away 
from  this  house.  Mr.  Haynes  most  fortunately  is  as  glad  to 
have  it  now  as  he  would  hav^e  been  when  we  took  it.  Lord 
Brackenshaw's  agent  is  to  arrange  every  thing  with  him  to  the 
best  advantage  for  us :  Bazley,  you  know  ;  not  at  all  an  ill-nat- 
ured man." 

"  I  can  not  help  thinking  that  Lord  Brackenshaw  would  let 
you  stay  here  rent-free,  mamma,"  said  Gwendolen,  whose  tal- 
ents had  not  been  applied  to  business  so  much  as  to  discern- 
ment of  the  admiration  excited  by  her  charms. 

"  My  dear  child.  Lord  Brackenshaw  is  in  Scotland,  and  kno\f  s 
nothing  about  us.  Neither  your  uncle  nor  I  would  choose  to 
apply  to  him.  Besides,  what  could  we  do  in  this  house  with- 
out servants,  and  without  money  to  warm  it  ?  The  sooner  we 
are  out,  the  better.  We  have  nothing  to  carry  but  our  clothes, 
you  know." 


238  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  to  go  abroad,  then  ?"  said  Gwendolen. 
After  all,  this  was  what  she  had  familiarized  her  mind  with. 

"  Oh  no,  dear,  -no.  How  could  we  travel  ?  You  never  did 
learn  any  thing  about  income  and  expenses,"  said  Mrs.  Davi- 
low,  trying  to  smile,  and  putting  her  hand  on  Gwendolen's  as 
she  added,  mournfully ;  "  that  makes  it  so  much  harder  for 
you,  my  pet." 

"  But  where  are  we  to  go  ?"  said  Gwendolen,  with  a  trace  of 
sharpness  in  her  tone.  She  felt  a  new  current  of  fear  passing 
through  her. 

"It  is  all  decided.  A  little  furniture  is  to  be  got  in  from 
the  rectory — all  that  can  be  spared."  Mrs.  Davilow  hesitated. 
She  dreaded  the  reality  for  herself  less  than  the  shock  she  must 
give  Gwendolen,  who  looked  at  her  with  tense  expectancy,  but 
was  silent. 

"  It  is  Sawyer's  cottage  we  are  to  go  to." 

At  first  Gwendolen  remained  silent,  paling  with  anger — 
justifiable  anger,  in  her  opinion.  Then  she  said,  with  haugh- 
tiness, 

"That  is  impossible.  Something  else  than  that  ought  to 
have  been  thought  of.  My  uncle  ought  not  to  allow  that.  I 
will  not  submit  to  it." 

"  My  sweet  child,  what  else  could  have  been  thought  of  ? 
Your  uncle,  I  am  sure,  is  as  kind  as  he  can  be  ;  but  he  is  suf- 
fering himself :  he  has  his  family  to  bring  up.  And  do  you 
quite  understand?  You  must  remember — we  have  nothing. 
We  shall  have  absolutely  nothing  except  what  he  and  my  sis- 
ter give  us.  They  have  been  as  wise  and  active  as  possible, 
and  we  must  try  to  earn  something.  I  and  the  girls  are  go- 
ing to  work  a  table-cloth  border  for  the  Ladies'  Charity  at 
Wancester,  and  a  communion-cloth  that  the  parishioners  are  to 
present  to  Pennicote  church." 

Mrs.  Davilow  went  into  these  details  timidly ;  but  how  else 
was  she  to  bring  the  fact  of  their  position  home  to  this  poor 
child,  who,  alas  !  must  submit  at  present,  whatever  might  be  in 
the  background  for  her?  And  she  herself  had  a  superstition 
that  there  must  be  something  better  in  the  background. 

"But  surely  somewhere  else  than  Sawyer's  cottage  might 
have  been  found,"  Gwendolen  persisted — taken  hold  of  (as  if 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  239 

in  a  nightmare)  by  the  image  of  this  house  where  an  excise- 
man had  lived.  , 

"Xo,  indeed,  dear.  You  know  houses  are  scarce,  and  we 
may  be  thankful  to  get  any  thing  so  private.  It  is  not  so  very 
bad.  There  are  two  little  parlors  and  four  bedrooms.  You 
shall  sit  alone  whenever  you  like." 

The  ebb  of  sympathetic  care  for  her  mamma  had  gone  so 
low  just  now,  that  Gwendolen  took  no  notice  of  these  depreca- 
tory words. 

"  I  can  not  conceive  that  all  your  property  is  gone  at  once, 
mamma.  How  can  you  be  sure  in  so  short  a  time  ?  It  is  not 
a  week  since  you  wrote  to  me." 

"  The  first  news  came  much  earlier,  dear.  But  I  would  not 
spoil  your  pleasure  till  it  was  quite  necessary." 

"  Oh,  how  vexatious !"  said  Gwendolen,  coloring  with  fresh 
anger.  "  If  I  had  known,  I  could  have  brought  home  the  mon- 
ey I  had  won ;  and  for  want  of  knowing,  I  staid  and  lost  it. 
I  had  nearly  two  hundred  pounds,  and  it  would  have  done  for 
us  to  live  on  a  little  while,  till  I  could  carry  out  some  plan." 
She  paused  an  instant,  and  then  added,  more  impetuously,  "  Ev- 
ery thing  has  gone  against  me.  People  have  come  near  me 
only  to  blight  me." 

Among  the  "  people  "  she  was  including  Deronda.  If  he  had 
not  interfered  in  her  life,  she  would  have  gone  to  the  gaming- 
table again  with  a  few  napoleons,  and  might  have  won  back  her 
losses. 

"  We  must  resign  ourselves  to  the  will  of  Providence,  my 
child,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Davilow,  startled  by  this  revelation  of  the 
gambling,  but  not  daring  to  say  more.  She  felt  sure  that "  peo- 
ple "  meant  Grandcourt,  about  whom  her  lips  were  sealed.  And 
Gwendolen  answered  immediately  : 

"  But  I  don't  resign  myself.  I  shall  do  what  I  can  against 
it.  What  is  the  good  of  calling  people's  wickedness  Provi- 
dence ?  You  said  in  your  letter  it  was  Mr.  Lassmann's  fault 
we  had  loet  our  money.     Has  he  run  away  with  it  all  ?" 

"  No,  dear,  you  don't  understand.  There  were  great  specu- 
lations :  he  meant  to  gain.  It  was  all  about  mines  and  things 
of  that  sort.     He  risked  too  much." 

"  I  don't  call  that  Providence  :  it  was  his  improvidence  with 


240  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

our  money,  and  he  ought  to  be  punished.  Can't  we  go  to  law 
and  recover  our  fortune?  My  uncle  ought  to  take  measures, 
and  not  sit  down  by  such  wrongs.     We  ought  to  go  to  law." 

"  My  dear  child,  law  can  never  bring  back  money  lost  in  that 
way.  Your  uncle  says  it  is  milk  spilled  upon  the  ground.  Be- 
sides, one  must  have  a  fortune  to  get  any  law :  there  is  no  law 
for  people  who  are  ruined.  And  our  money  has  only  gone 
along  with  other  people's.  We  are  not  the  only  sufferers :  oth- 
ers have  to  resign  themselves  besides  us." 

"  But  I  don't  resign  myself  to  live  at  Sawyer's  cottage,  and 
see  you  working  for  sixpences  and  shillings,  because  of  that.  I 
shall  not  do  it.  I  shall  do  what  is  more  befitting  our  rank  and 
education." 

"  I  am  sure  your  uncle  and  all  of  us  will  approve  of  that, 
dear,  and  admire  you  the  more  for  it,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  glad 
of  an  unexpected  opening  for  speaking  on  a  difficult  subject. 
"  I  didn't  mean  that  you  should  resign  yourself  to  worse  when 
any  thing  better  offered  itself.  Both  your  uncle  and  aunt  have 
felt  that  your  abilities  and  education  were  a  fortune  for  you, 
and  they  have  already  heard  of  something  within  your  reach." 

"  What  is  that,  mamma?"  Some  of  Gwendolen's  anger  gave 
way  to  interest,  and  she  was  not  without  romantic  conjec- 
tures. 

"  There  are  two  situations  that  offer  themselves.  One  is  in 
a  bishop's  family,  where  there  are  three  daughters,  and  the  oth- 
er is  in  quite  a  high  class  of  school ;  and  in  both,  your  French, 
and  music,  and  dancing,  and  then  your  manners  and  habits  as 
a  lady,  are  exactly  what  is  wanted.  Each  is  a  hundred  a  year 
—  and  —  just  for  the  present" — Mrs.  Davilow  had  become 
frightened  and  hesitating — "  to  save  you  from  the  petty,  com- 
mon way  of  living  that  we  must  go  to — you  would  perhaps  ac- 
cept one  of  the  two." 

"  What !  be  like  Miss  Graves  at  Madame  Meunier's  ?     No !" 

"  I  think,  myself,  that  Dr.  Mompert's  would  be  more  suitable. 
There  could  be  no  hardship  in  a  bishop's  family." 

"  Excuse  me,  mamma.  There  are  hardships  everywhere  for 
a  governess.  And  I  don't  see  that  it  would  be  pleasanter  to  be 
looked  down  on  in  a  bishop's  family  than  in  any  other.  Be- 
sides, you  know  very  well  I  hate  teaching.     Fancy  me  shut  up 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  241 

with  thre6  awkward  girls  sometliing  like  Alice !  I  would  rath- 
er emigrate  than  be  a  governess." 

What  it  precisely  was  to  emigrate,  Gwendolen  was  not  called 
on  to  explain.  Mrs.  Davilow  was  mute,  seeing  no  outlet,  and 
thinking  with  dread  of  the  collision  that  might  happen  when 
Gwendolen  had  to  meet  her  uncle  and  aunt.  There  was  an  air 
of  reticence  in  Gwendolen's  haughty,  resistant  speeches,  which 
implied  that  she  had  a  definite  plan  in  reserve ;  and  her  practi- 
cal ignorance,  continually  exhibited,  could  not  nullify  the  moth- 
er's belief  in  the  effectiveness  of  that  forcible  will  and  daring 
which  had  held  the  mastery  over  herself. 

"  I  have  some  ornaments,  mamma,  and  I  could  sell  them," 
said  Gwendolen.  "  They  would  make  a  sum :  I  want  a  little 
sum — just  to  go  on  with.  I  dare  say  Marshall  at  Wancester 
would  take  them :  I  know  he  showed  me  some  bracelets  once 
that  he  said  he  had  bought  from  a  lady.  Jocosa  might  go 
and  ask  him.  Jocosa  is  going  to  leave  us,  of  course.  But  she 
might  do  that  first." 

"  She  would  do  any  thing  she  could,  poor  dear  soul.  I  have 
not  told  you  yet — she  wanted  me  to  take  all  her  savings — her 
three  hundred  pounds.  I  tell  her  to  set  up  a  little  school.  It 
will  be  hard  for  her  to  go  into  a  new  family,  now  she  has  been 
so  long  with  us." 

"  Oh,  recommend  her  for  the  bishop's  daughters,"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, with  a  sudden  gleam  of  laughter  in  her  face.  "  I  am 
Bure  she  will  do  better  than  I  should." 

"  Do  take  care  not  to  say  such  things  to  your  uncle,"  said 
Mrs.  Davilow.  "  He  will  be  hurt  at  your  despising  what  he  has 
exerted  himself  about.  But  I  dare  say  you  have  something  else 
in  your  mind  that  he  might  not  disapprove,  if  you  consulted 
him." 

"  There  is  some  one  else  I  want  to  consult  first.  Are  the 
Arrowpoints  at  Quetcham  still,  and  is  Herr  Klesmer  there  ? 
But  I  dare  say  you  know  nothing  about  it,  poor  dear  mamma. 
Can  Jeffries  go  on  horseback  with  a  note  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  Jeffries  is  not  here,  and  the  dealer  has  taken 
the  horses.  But  some  one  could  go  for  u§  from  Leek's  farm. 
The  Arrowpoints  are  at  Quetcham,  I  know.  Miss  Arrowpoint 
left  her  card  the  other  day :  I  could  not  see  her.     But'  I  don't 

Vol.  L— 11 


242  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

know  about  Herr  Klesmer.  Do  you  want  to  send  before  to- 
morrow ?" 

"  Yes,  as  soon  as  possible.  I  will  write  a  note,"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, rising. 

"  What  can  you  be  thinking  of,  Gwen  ?"  said  Mrs.  Davilow, 
relieved  in  the  midst  of  her  wonderment  by  signs  of  alacrity 
and  better  humor. 

"  Don't  mind  what,  there's  a  dear  good  mamma,"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, reseating  herself  a  moment  to  give  atoning  caresses.  "  I 
mean  to  do  something.  Never  mind  what,  until  it  is  all  settled ; 
and  then  you  shall  be  comforted.  The  dear  face ! — it  is  ten 
years  older  in  these  three  weeks.  Now,  now,  now !  don't  cry" 
— Gwendolen,  holding  her  mamma's  head  with  both  hands, 
kissed  the  trembling  eyelids.  "But  mind  you  don't  contra- 
dict me  or  put  hinderances  in  my  way.  I  must  decide  for  my- 
self. I  can  not  be  dictated  to  by  my  uncle  or  any  one  else. 
My  life  is  my  own  affair.  And  I  think  " — here  her  tone  took 
an  edge  of  scorn  —  "I  think  I  can  do  better  for  you  than  let 
you  live  in  Sawyer's  cottage." 

In  uttering  this  last  sentence  Gwendolen  again  rose,  and 
went  to  a  desk,  where  she  wrote  the  following  note  to  Klesmer  : 

"  Miss  Harleth  presents  her  compliments  to  Herr  Klesmer, 
and  ventures  to  request  of  him  the  very  great  favor  that  he  will 
call  upon  her,  if  possible,  to-morrow.  Her  reason  for  presum- 
ing so  far  on  his  kindness  is  of  a  very  serious  nature.  Unfor- 
tunate family  circumstances  have  obliged  her  to  take  a  course 
in  which  she  can  only  turn  for  advice  to  the  great  knowledge 
and  judgment  of  Herr  Klesmer." 

"  Pray  get  this  sent  to  Quetcham  at  once,  mamma,"  said 
Gwendolen,  as  she  addressed  the  letter.  "  The  man  must  be 
told  to  wait  for  an  answer.     Let  no  time  be  lost." 

For  the  moment,  the  absorbing  purpose  was  to  get  the  letter 
dispatched ;  but  when  she  had  been  assured  on  this  point,  an- 
other anxiety  arose  and  kept  her  in  a  state  of  uneasy  excite- 
ment. If  Klesmer  happened  not  to  be  at  Quetcham,  what 
could  she  do  next  ?  Gwendolen's  belief  in  her  star,  so  to  speak, 
had   had   some   bruises.     Things  had   gone   against  her.     A 


•     BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  243 

splendid  marriage  which  presented  itself  within  reach  had 
shown  a  hideous  flaw.  The  chances  of  roulette  had  not  adjust- 
ed themselves  to  her  claims ;  and  a  man  of  whom  she  knew 
nothing  had  thrust  himself  between  her  and  her  intentions. 
The  conduct  of  those  uninteresting  people  who  managed  the 
business  of  the  world  had  been  culpable  just  in  the  points  most 
injurious  to  her  in  particular.  Gwendolen  Harleth,  with  all 
her  beauty  and  conscious  force,  felt  the  close  threats  of  humili- 
ation :  for  the  first  time  the  conditions  of  this  world  seemed  to 
her  like  a  hurrying,  roaring  crowd  in  which  she  had  got  astray, 
no  more  cared  for  and  protected  than  a  myriad  of  other  girls, 
in  spite  of  its  being  a  peculiar  hardship  to  her.  If  Klesmer 
were  not  at  Quetcham — that  would  be  all  of  a  piece  wdth  the 
rest :  the  unwelcome  negative  urged  itself  as  a  probability,  and 
set  her  brain  working  at  desperate  alternatives  which  might 
deliver  her  from  Sawyer's  cottage  or  the  ultimate  necessity  of 
"  taking  a  situation,"  a  phrase  that  summed  up  for  her  the  dis- 
agreeables most  wounding  to  her  pride,  most  irksome  to  her 
tastes ;  at  least  so  far  as  her  experience  enabled  her  to  imagine 
disagreeables. 

Still,  Klesmer  might  be  there,  and  Gwendolen  thought  of  the 
result  in  that  case  with  a  hopefulness  which  even  cast  a  sat- 
isfactory light  over  her  peculiar  troubles,  as  w^hat  might  well 
enter  into  the  biography  of  celebrities  and  remarkable  persons. 
And  if  she  had  heard  her  immediate  acquaintances  cross-exam- 
ined as  to  whether  they  thought  her  remarkable,  the  first  who 
said  "  No  "  would  have  surprised  her. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"  We  please  our  fancy  with  ideal  webs 
Of  innovation ;  but  our  life  meanwhile 
Is  in  the  loom,  where  busy  passion  plies 
The  shuttle  to  and  fro,  and  gives  our  deeds 
The  accustom'd  pattern." 

•  Gwendolen's  note,  coming  "  pat  betwixt  too  early  and  too 
late,"  was  put  into  Klesmer's  hands  just  when  he  was  leaving 
Quetcham ;  and,  in  order  to  meet  her  appeal  to  his  kindness, 


244  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

he,  with  some  inconvenience  to  himself,  spent  the  night  at 
Wancester.  There  were  reasons  why  he  would  not  remain  at 
Quetcham. 

That  magnificent  mansion,  fitted  with  regard  to  the  greatest 
expense,  had  in  fact  become -too  hot  for  him,  its  owners  having, 
like  some  great  politicians,  been  astonished  at  an  insurrection 
against  the  established  order  of  things,  which  we  plain  people, 
after  the  event,  can  perceive  to  have  been  prepared  under  their 
very  noses. 

There  were  as  usual  many  guests  in  the  house,  and  among 
them  one  in  whom  Miss  Arrowpoint  foresaw  a  new  pretender 
to  her  hand :  a  political  man  of  good  family,  who  confidently 
expected  a  peerage,  and  felt,  on  public  grounds,  that  he  required 
a  larger  fortune  to  support  the  title  properly.  Heiresses  vary, 
and  persons  interested  in  one  of  them  beforehand  are  prepared 
to  find  that  she  is  too  yellow  or  too  red,  tall  and  toppling  or 
short  and  square,  violent  and  capricious,  or  moony  and  insipid ; 
but  in  every  case  it  is  taken  for  granted  that  she  will  consider 
herself  an '  appendage  to  her  fortune,  and  marry  where  others 
think  her  fortune  ought  to  go.  Nature,  however,  not  only 
accommodates  herself  ill  to  our  favorite  practices  by  making 
"  only  children  "  daughters,  but  also  now  and  then  endows  the 
misplaced  daughter  with  a  clear  head  and  a  strong  will.  The 
Arrowpoints  had  already  felt  some  anxiety  owing  to  these 
endowments  of  their  Catherine.  She  would  not  accept  the 
view  of  her  social  duty  which  required  her  to  marry  a  needy 
nobleman  or  a  commoner  on  the  ladder  toward  nobility ;  and 
they  were  not  without  uneasiness  concerning  her  persistence  in 
declining  suitable  offers.  As  to  the  possibility  of  her  being  in 
love  with  Klesmer  they  were  not  at  all  uneasy — a  very  common 
sort  of  blindness.  For,  in  general,  mortals  have  a  great  power 
of  being  astonished  at  the  presence  of  an  effect  toward  which 
they  have  done  every  thing,  and  at  the  absence  of  an  effect 
toward  which  they  have  done  nothing  but  desire  it.  Parents 
are  astonished  at  the  ignorance  of  their  sons,  though  they  have 
used  the  most  time-honored  and  expensive  means  of  securing 
it;  husbands  and  wives  are  mutually  astonished  at  the  loss  of 
affection  which  they  have  taken  no  pains  to  keep ;  and  all  of 
us  in  our  turn  are  apt  to  be  astonished  that  our  neighbors  do 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  245 

not  admire  us.  In  this  way  it  happens  that  the  truth  seems 
hio;hly  improbable.  The  truth  is  something  different  from  the 
habitual  lazy  combinations  begotten  by  our  wishes.  The  Ar- 
rowpoints'  hour  of  astonishment  was  come. 

"When  there  is  a  passion  between  an  heiress  and  a  proud, 
independent-spirited  man,  it  is  difficult  for  them  to  come  to  an 
understanding;  but  the  difficulties  are  likely  to  be  overcome 
unless  the  proud  man  secures  himself  by  a  constant  alibi. 
Brief  meetings  after  studied  absence  are  potent  in  disclosure : 
but  more  potent  still  is  frequent  companionship,  with  full  sym- 
pathy in  taste,  and  admirable  qualities  on  both  sides ;  especially 
where  the  one  is  in  the  position  of  teacher,  and  the  other  is 
delightedly  conscious  of  receptive  ability  which  also  gives  the 
teacher  delight.  The  situation  is  famous  in  history,  and  has 
no  less  charm  now  than  it  had  in  the  days  of  Abelard. 

But  this  kind  of  comparison  had  not  occurred  to  the  Arrow- 
points  when  they  first  engaged  Klesmer  to  come  down  to 
Quetcham.  To  have  a  first-rate  musician  in  your  house  is  a 
privilege  of  wealth ;  Catherine's  musical  talent  demanded  every 
advantage ;  and  she  particularly  desired  to  use  her  quieter  time 
in  the  country  for  more  thorough  study.  Klesmer  was  not 
yet  a  Liszt,  understood  to  be  adored  by  ladies  of  all  European 
countries  with  the  exception  of  Lapland:  and  even  with  that 
understanding  it  did  not  follow  that  he  would  make  proposals 
to  an  heiress.  No  musician  of  honor  would  do  so.  Still  less 
was  it  conceivable  that  Catherine  would  give  him  the  slightest 
pretext  for  such  daring.  The  large  check  that  Mr  Arrowpoint 
was  to  draw  in  Klesmer's  name  seemed  to  make  him  as  safe  an 
inmate  as  a  footman.  Where  marriage  is  inconceivable,  a  girl's 
sentiments  are  safe. 

Klesmer  was  eminently  a  man  of  honor ;  but  marriages  rarely 
begin  with  formal  proposals,  and,  moreover,  Catherine's  limit  of 
the  conceivable  did  not  exactly  correspond  with  her  mother's. 

Outsiders  might  have  been  more  apt  to  think  that  Klesmer's 
position  was  dangerous  for  himself  if  Miss  Arrowpoint  had 
been  an  acknowledged  beauty  ;  not  taking  into  account  that 
the  most  powerful  of  all  beauty  is  that  which  reveals  itself  after 
sympathy,  and  not  before  it.  There  is  a  charm  of  eye  and  lip 
which  comes  with  every  little  phrase  that  certifies  delicate  per- 


246  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

ception  or  fine  judgment,  with  every  unostentatious  word  or 
smile  that  shows  a  heart  awake  to  others;  and  no  sweep  of 
garment  or  turn  of  figure  is  more  satisfying  than  that  which 
enters  as  a  restoration  of  confidence  that  one  person  is  present 
on  whom  no  intention  will  be  lost.  What  dignity  of  meaning 
goes  on  gathering  in  frowns  and  laughs  which  are  never  ob- 
served in  the  wrong  place !  what  suffused  adorableness  in  a  hu- 
man frame  where  there  is  a  mind  that  can  flash  out  compre- 
hension and  hands  that  can  execute  finely  !  The  more  obvious 
beauty,  also  adorable  sometimes — one  may  say  it  without  blas- 
phemy— begins  by  being  an  apology  for  folly,  and  ends,  like 
other  apologies,  in  becoming  tiresome  by  iteration ;  and  that 
Klesmer,  though  very  susceptible  to  it,  should  have  a  passion- 
ate attachment  to  Miss  Arrowpoint,  was  no  more  a  paradox 
than  any  other  triumph  of  a  manifold  sympathy  over  a  mo- 
notonous attraction.  We  object  less  to  be  taxed  with  the  en- 
slaving excess  of  our  passions  than  with  our  deficiency  in  wider 
passion ;  but  if  the  truth  were  known,  our  reputed  intensity  is 
often  the  dullness  of  not  knowing  what  else  to  do  with  our- 
selves. Tannhauser,  one  suspects,  was  a  knight  of  ill-furnished 
imagination,  hardly  of  larger  discourse  than  a  heavy  Guards- 
man ;  Merlin  had  certainly  seen  his  best  days,  and  was  merely 
repeating  himself,  when  he  fell  into  that  hopeless  captivity ; 
and  we  know  that  Ulysses  felt  so  manifest  an  ennui  under  sim- 
ilar circumstances  that  Calypso  herself  furthered  his  departure. 
There  is,  indeed,  a  report  that  he  afterward  left  Penelope ;  but 
since  she  was  habitually  absorbed  in  worsted-work,  and  it  was 
probably  from  her  that  Telemachus  got  his  mean,  pettifogging 
disposition,  always  anxious  about  the  property  and  the  daily 
consumption  of  meat,  no  inference  can  be  drawn  from  this  al- 
ready dubious  scandal  as  to  the  relation  between  companion- 
ship and  constancy. 

Klesmer  was  as  versatile  and  fascinating  as  a  young  Ulysses, 
on  a  sufficient  acquaintance — one  whom  nature  seemed  to  have 
first  made  generously,  and  then  to  have  added  music  as  a  domi- 
nant power  using  all  the  abundant  rest,  and,  as  in  Mendelssohn, 
finding  expression  for  itself  not  only  in  the  highest  finish  of 
execution,  but  in  that  fervor  of  creative  work  and  theoretic  be- 
lief which  pierces  the  whole  future  of  a  life  with  the  light  of 


BOOK  III. MAIDENS  CHOOSING.  247 

congruous,  devoted  purpose.  His  foibles  of  arrogance  and 
vanity  did  not  exceed  such  as  may  be  found  in  the  best  En- 
glish families  ;  and  Catherine  Arrowpoint  had  no  correspond- 
ing restlessness  to  clash  with  his :  notwithstanding  her  native 
kindliness,  she  was,  perhaps,  too  coolly  firm  and  self-sustained. 
But  she  w^as  one  of  those  satisfactory  creatures  whose  inter- 
course has  the  charm  of  discovery ;  whose  integrity  of  faculty 
and  expression  begets  a  wish  to  know  what  they  will  say  on 
all  subjects,  or  how  they  will  perform  whatever  they  undertake ; 
so  that  they  end  by  raising  not  only  a  continual  expectation, 
but  a  continual  sense  of  fulfillment  —  the  systole  and  diastole 
of  blissful  companionship.  In  such  cases  the  outward  present- 
ment easily  becomes  what  the  image  is  to  the  w^orshiper.  It 
was  not  long  before  the  two  became  aware  that  each  was  inter- 
esting to  the  other;  but  the  "how  far"  remained  a  matter  of 
doubt.  Klesmer  did  not  conceive  that  Miss  Arrowpoint  w^as 
likely  to  think  of  him  as  a  possible  lover,  and  she  was  not  ac- 
customed to  think  of  herself  as  likely  to  stir  more  than  a  friend- 
ly regard,  or  to  fear  the  expression  of  more  from  any  man  who 
was  not  enamored  of  her  fortune.  Each  was  content  to  suffer 
some  unshared  sense  of  denial  for  the  sake  of  loving  the  other's 
society  a  little  too  well ;  and  under  these  conditions  no  need 
had  been  felt  to  restrict  Klesmer's  visits  for  the  last  year  either 
in  country  or  in  town.  He  knew  very  well  that  if  Miss  Arrow- 
point  had  been  poor  he  w^ould  have,  made  ardent  love  to  her, 
instead  of  sending  a  storm  through  the  piano,  or  folding  his 
arms  and  pouring  out  a  hyperbolical  tirade  about  something  as 
impersonal  as  the  north  pole ;  and  she  was  not  less  aw^are  that 
if  it  had  been  possible  for  Klesmer  to  wish  for  her  hand,  she 
would  have  found  overmastering  reasons  for  giving  it  to  him. 
Here  was  the  safety  of  full  cups,  which  are  as  secure  from  over- 
flow as  the  half  empty,  always  supposing  no  disturbance.  Nat- 
urally, silent  feeling  had  not  remained  at  the  same  point  any 
more  than  the  stealthy  dial -hand;  and,  in  the  present  visit  to 
Quetcham,  Klesmer  had  begun  to  think  that  he  would  not 
come  again ;  while  Catherine  was  more  sensitive  to  his  frequent 
brusquerie,  which  she  rather  resented  as  a  needless  effort  to  assert 
his  footing  of  superior  in  every  sense  except  the  conventional. 
Meanwhile  enters  the  expectant  peer,  Mr.  Bult,  an  esteemed 


248  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

party  man  who,  rather  neutral  in  private  life,  had  strong  opin- 
ions concerning  the  districts  of  the  Niger,  was  much  at  home 
also' in  the  Brazils,  spoke  with  decision  of  affairs  in  the  South 
Seas,  was  studious  of  his  parliamentary  and  itinerant  speeches, 
and  had  the  general  solidity  and  suffusive  pinkiness  of  a  healthy 
Briton  on  the  central  table-land  of  life.  Catherine,  aware  of  a 
tacit  understanding  that  he  was  an  undeniable  husband  for  an 
heiress,  had  nothing  to  say  against  him  but  that  he  was  thor- 
oughly tiresome  to  her.  Mr.  Bult  was  amiably  confident,  and 
had  no  idea  that  his  insensibility  to  counterpoint  could  ever 
be  reckoned  against  him.  Klesmer  he  hardly  regarded  in  the 
light  of  a  serious  human  being  who  ought  to  have  a  vote  ;  and 
he  did  not  mind  Miss  Arrowpoint's  addiction  to  music  any 
more  than  her  probable  expenses  in  antique  lace.  He  was  con- 
sequently a  little  amazed  at  an  after  -  dinner  outburst  of  Kles- 
mer's  on  the  lack  of  idealism  in  English  politics,  which  left  all 
mutuality  between  distant  races  to  be  determined  simply  by  the 
need  of  a  market :  the  Crusades,  to  his  mi.nd,  had  at  least  this 
excuse,  that  they  had  a  banner  of  sentiment  round  which  gen- 
erous feelings  could  rally  :  of  course,  the  scoundrels  rallied  too, 
but  what  then  ?  they  rally  in  equal  force  round  your  advertise- 
ment van  of  "  Buy  cheap,  sell  dear."  On  this  theme  Klesmer's 
eloquence,  gesticulatory  and  other,  went  on  for  a  little  while 
like  stray  fire  -  works  accidentally  ignited,  and  then  sunk  into 
immovable  silence.  Mr.  Bult  was  not  surprised  that  Klesmer's 
opinions  should  be  flighty,  but  was  astonished  at  his  command 
of  English  idiom,  and  his  ability  to  put  a  point  in  a  way  that 
would  have  told  at  a  constituents'  dinner — to  be  accounted  for 
probably  by  his  being  a  Pole,  or  a  Czech,  or  something  of  that 
fermenting  sort,  in  a  state  of  political  refugeeism  which  had 
obliged  him  to  make  a  profession  of  his  music ;  and  that  even- 
ing in  the  drawing-room  he  for  the  first  time  went  up  to  Kles- 
mer at  the  piano.  Miss  Arrowpoint  being  near,  and  said, 
"  I  had  no  idea  before  that  you  were  a  political  man." 
Klesmer's  only  answer  was  to  fold  his  arms,  put  out  his 
nether  lip,  and  stare  at  Mr.  Bult. 

"  You  must  have  been  used  to  public  speaking.  You  speak 
uncommonly  well,  though  I  don't  agree  with  you.  From  what 
you  said  about  sentiment,  I  fancy  you  are  a  Panslavist." 


BOOK  HI. MAIDENS  CHOOSING.  249 

"  No ;  my  name  is  Elijah.  I  am  the  Wandering  Jew,"  said 
Klesmer,  flashing  a  smile  at  Miss  Arrowpoint,  and  suddenly 
making  a  mysterious,  wind-like  rush  backward  and  forward  on 
the  piano.  Mr.  Bult  felt  this  buffoonery  rather  offensive  and 
Polish,  but — Miss  Arrowpoint  being  there — did  not  like  to 
move  away. 

"  Herr  Klesmer  has  cosmopolitan  ideas,"  said  Miss  Arrow- 
point,  trying  to  make  the  best  of  the  situation.  "  He  looks 
forward  to  a  fusion  of  races." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Mr.  Bult,  willing  to  be  gracious. 
"  I  was  sure  he  had  too  much  talent  to  be  a  mere  musician." 

"Ah,  sir,  you  are  under  some  mistake  there,"  said  Klesmer, 
firing  up.  "  No  man  has  too  much  talent  to  be  a  musician. 
Most  men  have  too  little.  A  creative  artist  is  no  more  a  mere 
musician  than  a  great  statesman  is  a  mere  politician.  We  are 
not  ingenious  puppets,  sir,  who  live  in  a  box  and  look  out  on 
the  world  only  when  it  is  gaping  for  amusement.  We  help  to 
rule  the  nations  and  make  the  age  as  much  as  any  other  pub- 
lic men.  We  count  ourselves  on  level  benches  with  legislators. 
And  a  man  who  speaks  effectively  through  music  is  compelled 
to  something  more  difficult  than  parliamentary  eloquence." 

With  the  last  word  Klesm'er  wheeled  from  the  piano  and 
walked  away. 

Miss  Arrowpoint  colored,  and  Mr.  Bult  observed  with  his 
usual  phlegmatic  solidity,  "  Your  pianist  does  not  think  small 
beer  of  himself." 

"  Herr  Klesmer  is  something  more  than  a  pianist,"  said  Miss 
Arrowpoint,  apologetically.  "He  is  a  great  musician  in  the 
fullest  sen  St  of  the  word.  He  will  rank  with  Schubert  and 
Mendelssohn." 

"Ah,  you  ladies  understand  these  things,"  said  Mr.  Bult, 
none  the  less  con\dnced  that  these  things  were  frivolous  because 
Klesmer  had  shown  himself  a  coxcomb. 

Catherine,  always  sorry  when  Klesmer  gave  himself  airs, 
found  an  opportunity  the  next  day  in  the  music-room  to  say, 
"  Why  were  you  so  heated  last  night  with  Mr.  Bult  ?  He  meant 
no  harm." 

"  You  wish  me  to  be  complaisant  to  him  ?"  said  Klesmer, 
rather  fiercely. 

11* 


250  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  I  think  it  is  hardly  worth  your  while  to  be  other  than 
civil." 

"  You  find  no  difficulty  in  tolerating  him,  then  ?  You  have  a 
respect  for  a  political  platitudinarian  as  insensible  as  an  ox  to 
every  thing  he  can't  turn  into  political  capital.  You  think  his 
monumental  obtuseness  suited  to  the  dignity  of  the  English  gen- 
tleman." 

"I  did  not  say  that." 

"  You  mean  that  I  acted  without  dignity,  and  you  are  offend- 
ed with  me." 

"Now  you  are  slightly  nearer  the  truth,"  said  Catherine, 
smiling. 

"  Then  I  had  better  put  my  burial-clothes  in  my  portman- 
teau and  set  off  at  once." 

"  I  don't  see  that.  If  I  have  to  bear  your  criticism  of  my 
operetta,  you  should  not  mind  my  criticism  of  your  impa- 
tience." 

"  But  I  do  mind  it.  You  would  have  wished  me  to  take 
his  ignorant  impertinence  about  a  *  mere  musician'  without 
letting  him  know  his  place.  I  am  to  hear  my  gods  blas- 
phemed as  well  as  myself  insulted.  But  I  beg  pardon.  It  is 
impossible  you  should  see  the  matter  as  I  do.  Even  you  can't 
understand  the  wrath  of  the  artist :  he  is  of  another  caste  for 
you."    . 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Catherine,  with  some  betrayal  of  feeling. 
"  He  is  of  a  caste  to  which  I  look  up — a  caste  above  mine." 

Klesmer,  who  had  been  seated  at  a  table  looking  over  scores, 
started  up  and  walked  to  a  little  distance,  from  which  he  said, 

"That  is  finely  felt — I  am  grateful.  But  I  had  better  go, 
all  the  same.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  go,  for  good  and 
all.  You  can  get  on  exceedingly  well  without  me :  your  oper- 
etta is  on  wheels  —  it  will  go  of  itself.  And  your  Mr.  Bult's 
company  fits  me  'wie  die  Faust  ins  Auge.'  I  am  neglecting 
my  engagements.     I  must  go  off  to  St.  Petersburg." 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  You  agree  with  me  that  I  had  better  go  ?"  said  Klesmer, 
with  some  irritation. 

"Certainly;  if  that  is  what  your  business  and  feeling 
prompt.     I  have  only  to  wonder  that  you  have  consented  to 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  251 

give  us  SO  mucli  of  your  time  in  the  last  year.  There  must  be 
treble  the  interest  to  you  anywhere  else.  I  have  never  thought 
of  your  consenting  to  come  here  as  any  thing  else  than  a  sac- 
rifice." 

"  Why  should  I  make  the  sacrifice  ?"  said  Klesmer,  going  to 
seat  himself  at  the  piano,  and  touching  the  keys  so  as  to  give 
with  the  delicacy  of  an  echo  in  the  far  distance  a  melody 
which  he  had  set  to  Heine's  "  Ich  hab'  dich  geliebet,  und  liebe 
dich  noch." 

"  That  is  the  mystery,"  said  Catherine,  not  wanting  to  affect 
any  thing,  but  from  mere  agitation.  From  the  same  cause  she 
was  tearing  a  piece  of  paper  into  minute  morsels,  as  if  at  a 
task  of  utmost  multiplication  imposed  by  a  cruel  fairy. 

"  You  can  conceive  no  motive  ?"  said  Klesmer,  folding  his 
arms. 

"  None  that  seems  in  the  least  probable." 

"Then  I  shall  tell  you.  It  is  because  you  are  to  me  the 
chief  woman  in  the  w^orld  —  the  throned  lady  whose  colors  I 
carry  between  my  heart  and  my  armor." 

Catherine's  hands  trembled  so  much  that  she  could  no  longer 
tear  the  paper :  still  less  could  her  lips  utter  a  word.  Klesmer 
went  on : 

"  This  would  be  the  last  impertinence  in  me,  if  I  meant  to 
found  any  thing  upon  it.  That  is  put  of  the  question.  I 
mean  no  such  thing.  But  you  once  said  it  was  your  doom  to 
suspect  every  man  who  courted  you  of  being  an  adventurer, 
and  what  made  you  angriest  was  men's  imputing  to  you  the 
folly  of  believing  that  they  courted  you  for  your  own  sake. 
Did  you  not  say  so  ?" 

"  Very  likely,"  was  the  answer,  in  a  low  murmur. 

"  It  was  a  bitter  word.  Well,  at  least  one  man  who  has  seen 
women  as  plenty  as  flowers  in  May  has  lingered  about  you  for 
your  own  sake.  And  since  he  is  one  whom  you  can  never  mar- 
ry, you  will  believe  him.  That  is  an  argument  in  favor  of 
some  other  man.  But  don't  give  yourself  for  a  meal  to  a  min- 
otaur  like  Bult.  I  shall  go  now  and  pack.  I  shall  make  my 
excuses  to  Mrs.  Arrowpoint."  Klesmer  rose  as  he  ended,  and 
walked  quickly  toward  the  door.  .     . 

"  You  must  take  this  heap  of  manuscript,  then,"  said  Cath- 


252  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

erine,  suddenly  making  a  desperate  effort.  She  liad  risen  to 
fetch  the  heap  from  another  table.  Klesmer  came  back,  and 
they  had  the  length  of  the  folio  sheets  between  them. 

"  Why  should  I  not  marry  the  man  who  loves  me,  if  I  love 
him  ?"  said  Catherine.  To  her  the  effort  was  something  like 
the  leap  of  a  woman  from  the  deck  into  the  life-boat. 

"  It  would  be  too  hard — impossible — you  could  not  carry  it 
through.  I  am  not  worth  what  you  would  have  to  encounter. 
I  will  not  accept  the  sacrifice.  It  would  be  thought  a  mesalli- 
ance for  you,  and  I  should  be  liable  to  the  worst  accusations." 

"  Is  it  the  accusations  you  are  afraid  of  ?  I  am  afraid  of 
nothing  but  that  we  should  miss  the  passing  of  our  lives  to- 
gether." 

The  decisive  word  had  been  spoken :  there  w^as  no  doubt 
concerning  the  end  willed  by  each :  there  only  remained  the 
way  of  arriving  at  it,  and  Catherine  determined  to  take  the 
straightest  possible.  She  went  to  her  father  and  mother  in  the 
library  and  told  them  that  she  had  promised  to  marry  Klesmer. 

Mrs.  Arrowpoint's  state  of  mind  was  pitiable.  Imagine  Jean 
Jacques,  after  his  essay  on  the  corrupting  influence  of  the  arts, 
waking  up  among  children  of  nature  who  had  no  idea  of  grill- 
ing the  raw  bone  they  offered  him  for  breakfast  with  the  prim- 
itive convert  of  a  flint ;  or  Saint  Just,  after  fervidly  denouncing 
all  recognition  of  pre-enjinence,  receiving  a  vote  of  thanks  for 
the  unbroken  mediocrity  of  his  speech,  which  warranted  the 
dullest  patriots  in  delivering  themselves  at  equal  length.  Some- 
thing of  the  same  sort  befell  the  authoress  of  "Tasso,"  when 
what  she  had  safely  demanded  of  the  dead  Leonora  was  enact- 
ed by  her  own  Catherine.  It  is  hard  for  us  to  live  up  to  our 
own  eloquence,  and  keep  pace  with  our  winged  words,  while  we 
are  treading  the  solid  earth  and  are  liable  to  heavy  dining. 
Besides,  it  has  long  been  understood  that  the  proprieties  of  lit- 
erature are  not  those  of  practical  life.  Mrs.  Arrowpoint  natu- 
rally wished  for  the  best  of  every  thing.  She  not  only  liked 
to  feel  herself  at  a  higher  level  of  literary  sentiment  than  the 
ladies  with  whom  she  associated;  she  wished  not  to  be  below 
them  in  any  point  of  social  consideration.  While  Klesmer  was 
seen  in  the  light  of  a  patronized  musician,  his  peculiarities  were 
picturesque  and  acceptable;  but  to  see  him  by  a  sudden  to)} 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  25ti 

in  the  light  of  her  son-in-law  gave  her  a  burning  sense  of  what 
the  world  would  say.  And  the  poor  lady  had  been  used  to 
represent  her  Catherine  as  a  model  of  excellence. 

Under  the  first  shock,  she  forgot  every  thing  but  her  anger, 
and  snatched  at  any  phrase  that  would  serve  as  a  weapon. 

"  If  Klesmer  has  presumed  to  offer  himself  to  you,  your  fa- 
ther shall  horsewhip  him  off  the  premises.  Pray,  speak,  Mr. 
Arrowpoint." 

The  father  took  his  cigar  from  his  mouth,  and  rose  to  the 
occasion  by  saying,  "  This  will  never  do,  Cath." 

"  Do !"  cried  Mrs.  Arrowpoint ;  "  who  in  their  senses  ever 
thought  it  would  do?  You  might  as  well  say  poisoning  and 
strangling  will  not  do.  It  is  a  comedy  you  have  got  up,  Cath- 
erine.    Else  you  are  mad." 

"  I  am  quite  sane  and  serious,  mamma,  and  Herr  Klesmer  is 
not  to  blame.  He  never  thought  of  my  marrying  him.  I 
found  out  that  he  loved  me,  and  loving  him,  I  told  him  I  would 
marry  him." 

"  Leave  that  unsaid,  Catherine,"  said  Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  bitter- 
ly. "  Every  one  else  will  say  it  for  you.  You  will  be  a  pub- 
lic fable.  Every  one  will  say  that  you  must  have  made  the  of- 
fer to  a  man  who  has  been  paid  to  come  to  the  house — who  is 
nobody  knows  what  —  a  gypsy,  a  Jew,  a  mere  bubble  of  the 
earth." 

"  Never  mind,  mamma,"  said  Catherine,  indignant  in  her 
turn.     "  We  all  know  he  is  a  genius — as  Tasso  was." 

"  Those  times  were  not  these,  nor  is  Klesmer  Tasso,"  said 
Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  getting  more  heated.  "  There  is  no  sting  in 
that  sarcasm,  except  the  sting  of  undutifulness." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hurt  you,  mamma.  But  I  will  not  give  up 
the  happiness  of  my  life  to  ideas  that  I  don't  believe  in  and 
customs  I  have  no  respect  for." 

"  You  have  lost  all  sense  of  duty,  then  ?  You  have  forgotten 
that  you  are  our  only  child ;  that  it  lies  with  you  to  place  a 
great  property  in  the  right  hands  ?" 

"  What  are  the  right  hands  ?  My  grandfather  gained  the 
property  in  trade." 

"  Mr.  Arrowpoint,  will  you  sit  by  and  hear  this  without 
speaking  ?" 


254  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  I  am  a  gentleman,  Cath.  We  expect  you  to  marry  a  gen- 
tleman," said  the  father,  exerting  himself. 

"And  a  man  connected  with  the  institutions  of  this  country," 
said  the  mother.  "  A  woman  in  your  position  has  serious  du- 
ties.    Where  duty  and  inclination  clash,  she  must  follow  duty." 

"  I  don't  deny  that,"  said  Catherine,  getting  colder  in  pro- 
portion to  her  mother's  heat.  "  But  one  may  say  very  true 
things  and  apply  them  falsely.  People  can  easily  take  the 
sacred  word  'duty '  as  a  name  for  what  they  desire  any  one  else 
to  do." 

"  Your  parents'  desire  makes  no  duty  for  you,  then  ?" 

"  Yes,  within  reason.  But  before  I  give  up  the  happiness 
of  my  life — " 

"  Catherine,  Catherine,  it  will  not  be  your  happiness,"  said 
Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  in  her  most  raven-like  tones. 

"Well,  what  seems  to  me  my  happiness — before  I  give  it  up, 
I  must  see  some  better  reason  than  the  wish  that  I  should  mar- 
ry a  nobleman,  or  a  man  who  votes  with  a  party  that  he  may 
be  turned  into  a  nobleman.  I  feel  at  liberty  to  marry  the  man 
I  love  and  think  worthy,  unless  some  higher  duty  forbids." 

"And  so  it  does,  Catherine,  though  you  are  blinded  and  can 
not  see  it.  It  is  a  woman's  duty  not  to  lower  herself.  You 
are  lowering  yourself.  Mr.  Arrowpoint,  will  you  tell  your 
daughter  what  is  her  duty  ?" 

"  You  must  see,  Catherine,  that  Klesmer  is  not  the  man  for 
you,"  said  Mr.  Arrowpoint.  "  He  won't  do  at  the  head  of  es- 
tates.    He  has  a  deuced  foreign  look — is  an  unpractical  man." 

"  I  really  can't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  it,  papa.  The 
land  of  England  has  often  passed  into  the  hands  of  foreigners 
— Dutch  soldiers,  sons  of  foreign  women  of  bad  character.  If 
our  land  were  sold  to-morrow,  it  would  very  likely  pass  into  the 
hands  of  some  foreign  merchant  on  'Change.  It  is  in  every 
body's  mouth  that  successful  swindlers  may  buy  up  half  the 
land  in  the  country.     How  can  I  stem  that  tide  ?" 

"  It  will  never  do  to  argue  about  marriage,  Cath,"  said  Mr. 
Arrowpoint.  "  It's  no  use  getting  up  the  subject  like  a  parlia- 
mentary question.  We  must  do  as  other  people  do.  We  must 
think  of  the  nation  and  the  public  good." 

"  I  can't  see  any  public  good  concerned  here,  papa,"  said 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  255 

Catherine.  "  Why  is  it  to  be  expected  of  an  heiress  that  she 
should  carry  the  property  gained  in  trade  into  the  hands  of  a 
certain  class  ?  That  seems  to  me  a  ridiculous  mish-mash  of  su- 
perannuated customs  and  false  ambition.  I  should  call  it  a 
public  evil.  People  had  better  make  a  new  sort  of  public  good 
by  changing  their  ambitions." 

"  That  is  mere  sophistry,  Catherine,"  said  Mrs.  Arrowpoint. 
"  Because  you  don't  wish  to  marry  a  nobleman,  you  are  not 
obliged  to  marry  a  mountebank  or  a  charlatan." 

"  I  can  not  understand  the  application  of  such  words,  mam- 
ma." 

"  No,  I  dare  say  not,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  with  signif- 
icant scorn.  "  You  have  got  to  a  pitch  at  which  we  are  not 
likely  to  understand  each  other." 

"  It  can't  be  done,  Cath,"  said  Mr.  Arrowpoint,  wishing  to 
substitute  a  better-humored  reasoning  for  his  wife's  impetuosi- 
ty. "A  man  like  Klesmer  can't  marry  such  a  property  as  yours. 
It  can't  be  done." 

"  It  certainly  will  not  be  done,"  said  Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  im- 
periously.    "  Where  is  the  man  ?     Let  him  be  fetched." 

"  I  can  not  fetch  him  to  be  insulted,"  said  Catherine. 
"  Nothing  will  be  achieved  by  that." 

"  I  suppose  that  you  would  wish  him  to  know  that  in  marry- 
ing you  he  will  not  marry  your  fortune,"  said  Mrs.  AiTowpoint. 

"  Certainly.     If  it  were  so,  I  should  wish  him  to  know  it." 

"  Then  you  had  better  fetch  him." 

Catherine  only  went  into  the  music-room,  and  said,  "  Come." 
She  felt  no  need  to  prepare  Klesmer. 

"  Herr  Klesmer,"  said  Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  with  a  rather  con- 
temptuous stateliness,  "  it  is  unnecessary  to  repeat  what  has 
passed  between  us  and  our  daughter.  Mr.  Arrowpoint  will 
tell  you  our  resolution." 

"  Your  marrying  is  quite  out  of  the  question,"  said  Mr.  Ar- 
rowpoint, rather  too  heavily  weighted  with  his  task,  and  stand- 
ing in  an  embarrassment  unrelieved  by  a  cigar.  "  It  is  a  wild 
scheme  altogether.     A  man  has  been  called  out  for  less." 

"  You  have  taken  a  base  advantage  of  our  confidence,"  burst 
in  Mrs.  Arrowpoint,  unable  to  carry  out  her  purpose  and  leave 
the  burden  of  speech  to  her  husband. 


256  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Klesmer  made  a  low  bow  in  silent  irony. 

"  The  pretension  is  ridiculous.  You  had  better  give  it  up, 
and  leave  the  house  at  once,"  continued  Mr.  Arrowpoint  He 
wished  to  do  without  mentioning  the  money. 

"  I  can  give  up  nothing  without  reference  to  your  daughter's 
wish,"  said  Klesmer.     "  My  engagement  is  to  her." 

"  It  is  useless  to  discuss  the  question,"  said  Mrs.  Arrowpoint. 
"  We  shall  never  consent  to  the  marriage.  If  Catherine  dis- 
obeys us,  we  shall  disinherit  her.  You  will  not  marry  her  fort- 
une.    It  is  right  you  should  know  that." 

"  Madam,  her  fortune  has  been  the  only  thing  I  have  had  to 
regret  about  her.  But  I  must  ask  her  if  she  will  not  think  the 
sacrifice  greater  than  I  am. worthy  of." 

"  It  is  no  sacrifice  to  me,"  said  Catherine,  "  except  that  I  am 
sorry  to  hurt  my  father  and  mother.  I  have  always  felt  my 
fortune  to  be  a  wretched  fatality  of  my  life." 

"  You  mean  to  defy  us,  then?"  said  Mrs.  Arrowpoint. 

"  I  mean  to  marry  Herr  Klesmer,"  said  Catherine,  firmly. 

"  He  had  better  not  count  on  our  relenting,"  said  Mrs.  Ar- 
rowpoint, whose  manners  suffered  from  that  impunity  in  insult 
which  has  been  reckoned  among  the  privileges  of  women. 

"  Madam,"  said  Klesmer,  "  certain  reasons  forbid  me  to  re- 
tort. But  understand  that  I  consider  it  out  of  the  power  either 
of  you  or  of  your  fortune  to  confer  on  me  any  thing  that  I 
value.  My  rank  as  an  artist  is  of  my  own  winning,  and  I  would 
not  exchange  it  for  any  other.  I  am  able  to  maintain  your 
daughter,  and  I  ask  for  no  change  in  my  life  but  her  compan- 
ionship." 

"  You  will  leave  the  house,  however,"  said  Mrs.  Arrowpoint. 

"  I  go  at  once,"  said  Klesmer,  bowing,  and  quitting  the  room. 

*'  Let  there  be  no  misunderstanding,  mamma,"  said  Cathe- 
rine. "  I  consider  myself  engaged  to  Herr  Klesmer,  and  I  in- 
tend to  marry  him." 

The  mother  turned  her  head  away,  and  waved  her  hand  in 
sign  of  dismissal. 

"  It's  all  very  fine,"  said  Mr.  Arrowpoint,  when  Catherine 
was  gone;  "but  what  the  deuce  are  we  to  do  with  the  prop- 
erty ?" 

"  There  is  Harry  Brendall.     He  can  take  the  name." 


BOOK  III. MAIDENS  CHOOSING.  257 

"Harry  Brendall  will  get  through  it  all  in  no  time,"  said 
Mr.  Arrowpoint,  relighting  his  cigar. 

And  thus,  with  nothing  settled  but  the  determination  of  the 
lovers,  Klesmer  had  left  Quetcham. 


CHAPTER  XXIH. 


"  Among  the  heirs  of  Art,  as  at  the  division  of  the  Promised  Land,  each 
has  to  win  his  portion  by  hard  lighting :  the  bestowal  is  after  the  manner 
of  prophecy,  and  is  a  title  without  possession.  To  carry  the  map  of  an  un- 
gotten  estate  in  your  pocket  is  a  poor  sort  of  copy-hold.  And  in  fancy  to 
cast  his  shoe  over  Edom  is  httle  warrant  that  a  man  shall  ever  set  the  sole 
of  his  foot  on  an  acre  of  his  own  there."  . 


"  The  most  obstinate  beliefs  that  mortals  entertain  about  themselves  are 
such  as  they  have  no  evidence  for  beyond  a  constant  spontaneous  pulsing 
of  their  self-satisfaction — as  it  were  a  hidden  seed  of  madness,  a  confidence 
that  they  can  move  the  world  without  precise  notion  of  standing-place  or 
lever." 

"  Pray  go  to  church,  mamma,"  said  Gwendolen  the  next 
morning.  "I  prefer  seeing  Herr  Klesmer  alone."  (He  had 
written  in  reply  to  her  note  that  he  would  be  with  her  at 
eleven.) 

"  That  is  hardly  correct,  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  anx- 
iously. 

"Our  affairs  are  too  serious  for  us  to  think  of  such  non- 
sensical rules,"  said  Gwendolen,  contemptuously.  "  They  are 
insulting  as  well  as  ridiculous." 

"  You  would  not  mind  Isabel  sitting  with  you  ?  She  would 
be  reading  in  a  corner." 

"  No,  she  could  not :  she  would  bite  her  nails  and  stare.  It 
would  be  too  irritating.  Trust  my  judgment,  mamma.  I 
must  be  alone.     Take  them  all  to  church." 

Gwendolen  had  her  way,  of  course ;  only  that  Miss  Merry 
and  two  of  the  girls  staid  at  home,  to  give  the  house  a  look  of 
habitation  by  sitting  at  the  dining-room  windows. 

It  was  a  delicious  Sunday  morning.  The  melancholy  wan- 
ing sunshine  of  autumn  rested  on  the  leaf -strewed  grass,  and 
came  mildly  through  the  windows  in  slanting  bands  of  bright- 


258  DANIEL    DERONDA« 

ness  over  the  old  furniture,  and  the  glass  panel  that  reflected 
the  furniture  ;  over  the  tapestried  chairs  with  their  faded  flow- 
er-wreaths, the  dark  enigmatic  pictures,  the  superannuated  or- 
gan at  which  Gwendolen  had  pleased  herself  with  acting  Saint 
Cecilia  on  her  first  joyous  arrival,  the  crowd  of  pallid,  dusty 
knickknacks  seen  through  the  open  doors  of  the  antechamber 
where  she  had  achieved  the  wearing  of  her  Greek  dress  as  Her- 
mione.  This  last  memory  was  just  now  very  busy  in  her  ;  for 
had  not  Klesmer  then  been  struck  with  admiration  of  her  pose 
and  expression  ?  Whatever  he  had  said,  whatever  she  imagined 
him  to  have  thought,  was  at  this  moment  pointed  with  keenest 
interest  for  her :  perhaps  she  had  never  before  in  her  life  felt 
so  inwardly  dependent,  so  consciously  in  need  of  another  per- 
son's opinion.  There  was  a  new  fluttering  of  spirit  within  her, 
a  new  element  of  deliberation  in  her  self  -  estimate,  which  had 
hitherto  been  a  blissful  gift  of  intuition.  Still  it  was  the  re- 
current burden  of  her  inward  soliloquy  that  Klesmer  had  seen 
but  little  of  her,  and  any  unfavorable  conclusion  of  his  must 
have  too  narrow  a  foundation.  She 'really  felt  clever  enough 
for  any  thing. 

To  fill  up  the  time,  she  collected  her  volumes  and  pieces  of 
music,  and,  laying  them  on  the  top  of  the  piano,  set  herself  to 
classify  them.  Then,  catching  the  reflection  of  her  movements 
in  the  glass  panel,  she  was  diverted  to  the  contemplation  of  the 
image  there,  and  walked  toward  it.  Dressed  in  black,  without 
a  single  ornament,  and  with  the  warm  whiteness  of  her  skin 
set  off  between  her  light-brown  coronet  of  hair  and  her  square- 
cut  bodice,  she  might  have  tempted  an  artist  to  try  again  the 
Roman  trick  of  a  statue  in  black,  white,  and  tawny  marble. 
Seeing  her  image  slowly  advancing,  she  thought,  "  I  am  beau- 
tiful " — not  exultingly,  but  with  grave  decision.  Being  beauti- 
ful was,  after  all,  the  condition  on  which  she  most  needed  ex- 
ternal testimony.  If  any  one  objected  to  the  turn  of  her  nose 
or  the  form,  of  her  neck  and  chin,  she  had  not  the  sense  that 
she  could  presently  show  her  power  of  attainment  in  these 
branches  of  feminine  perfection. 

There  was  not  much  time  to  fill  up  in  this  way  before  the 
sound  of  wheels,  the  loud  ring,  and  the  opening  doors,  assured 
her  that  she  was  not  by  any  accident  to  be  disappointed.     This 


BOOK  III. MAIDENS  CHOOSING.  259 

slightly  increased  lier  inward  flutter.  In  spite  of  her  self-confi- 
dence, she  dreaded  Klesmer  as  part  of  that  unmanageable  world 
which  was  independent  of  her  wishes — something  vitriolic  that 
would  not  cease  to  burn  because  you  smiled  or  frowned  at  it. 
Poor  thino"!  she  was  at  a  hiarher  crisis  of  her  woman's  fate 
than  in  her  past  experience  with  Grandcourt.  The  questioning 
then  was  whether  she  should  take  a  particular  man  as  a  hus- 
band. The  inmost  fold  of  her  questioning  now  was  w^hether 
she  need  take  a  husband  at  all — whether  she  could  not  achieve 
substantiality  for  herself,  and  know  gratified  ambition  without 
bondage. 

Klesmer  made  his  most  deferential  bow  in  the  wide  door- 
way of  the  antechamber — showing  also  the  deference  of  the 
finest  gray  cassimere  trousers  and  perfect  gloves  (the  "  masters 
of  those  who  know"  are  happily  altogether  human).  Gwen- 
dolen met  him  with  unusual  gravity,  and,  holding  out  her  hand, 
said,  "  It  is  most  kind  of  you  to  come,  Herr  Klesmer.  I  hope 
you  have  not  thought  me  presumptuous." 

"  I  took  your  w^ish  as  a  command  that  did  me  honor,"  said 
Klesmer,  with  answering  gravity.  He  was  really  putting  by 
his  own  affairs  in  order  to  give  his  utmost  attention  to  what 
Gwendolen  might  have  to  say  ;  but  his  temperament  was  still 
in  a  state  of  excitation  from  the  events  of  yesterday,  likely 
enough  to  give  his  expressions  a  more  than  usually  biting 
edge. 

Gwendolen  for  once  was  under  too  great  a  strain  of  feeling 
to  remember  formalities.  She  continued  standing  near  the  pi- 
ano, and  Klesmer  took  his  stand  at  the  other  end  of  it,  with 
his  back  to  the  light  and  his  terribly  omniscient  eyes  upon  her. 
No  affectation  was  of  use,  and  she  began  without  delay. 

"  I  wish  to  consult  you,  Herr  Klesmer.  We  have  lost  all  our 
fortune ;  we  have  nothing.  I  must  get  my  own  bread,  and  I 
desire  to  provide  for  my  mamma,  so  as  to  save  her  from  any 
hardship.  The  only  way  I- can  think  of — and  I  should  like  it 
better  than  any  thing — is  to  be  an  actress — to  go  on  the  stage. 
But,  of  course,  I  should  like  to  take  a  high  position,  and  I 
thought — if  you  thought  I  could  " — here  Gwendolen  became  a 
little  more  nervous — "  it  would  be  better  for  me  to  be  a  singer 
— to  study  singing  also." 


260  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Klesmer  put  down  his  hat  on  the  piano,  and  folded  his  arms 
as  if  to  concentrate  himself. 

"  I  know,"  Gwendolen  resumed,  turning  from  pale  to  pink 
and  back  again — "  I  know  that  my  method  of  singing  is  very 
defective;  but  I  have  been  ill  taught.  I  could  be  better 
taught ;  I  could  study.  And  you  will  understand  my  wish :  to 
sing  and  act  too,  like  Grisi,  is  a  much  higher  position.  Natu- 
rally, I  should  wish  to  take  as  high  a  rank  as  I  can.  And  I  can 
rely  on  your  judgment.    I  am  sure  you  will  tell  me  the  truth." 

Gwendolen  somehow  had  the  conviction  that,  now  she  made 
this  serious  appeal,  the  truth  would  be  favorable. 

Still  Klesmer  did  not  speak.  He  drew  off  his  gloves  quick- 
ly, tossed  them  into  his  hat,  rested  his  hands  on  his  hips,  and 
walked  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  He  was  filled  with  com- 
passion for  this  girl :  he  wanted  to  put  a  guard  on  his  speech. 
When  he  turned  again,  he  looked  at  her  with  a  mild  frown  of 
inquiry,  and  said,  with  gentle  though  quick  utte'rance,  "  You 
have  never  seen  any  thing,  I  think,  of  artists  and  their  lives? 
I  mean  of  musicians,  actors,  artists  of  that  kind  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Gwendolen,  not  perturbed  by  a  reference  to 
this  obvious  fact  in  the  history  of  a  young  lady  hitherto  well 
provided  for. 

"You  are — pardon  me,"  said  Klesmer,  again,  pausing  near 
the  piano,  "  in  coming  to  a  conclusion  on  such  a  matter  as  this, 
every  thing  must  be  taken  into  consideration — you  are  perhaps 
twenty  ?" 

"  I  am  twenty-one,"  said  Gwendolen,  a  slight  fear  rising  in 
her.     "  Do  you  think  I  am  too  old  ?" 

Klesmer  pouted  his  under-lip  and  shook  his  long  fingers  up- 
ward in  a  manner  totally  enigmatic. 

"Many  persons  begin  later  than  others,"  said  Gwendolen, 
betrayed  by  her  habitual  consciousness  of  having  valuable  in- 
formation to  bestow. 

Klesmer  took  no  notice,  but  said,  with  more  studied  gentle- 
ness than  ever,  "  You  have  probably  not  thought  of  an  artistic 
career  until  now  :  you  did  not  entertain  the  notion,  the  longing 
— what  shall  I  say  ? — you  did  not  wish  yourself  an  actress,  or 
any  thing  of  that  sort,  till  the  present  trouble  ?" 
.  "  Not  exactly ;  but  I  was  fond  of  acting.     I  have  acted ;  you 


BOOK    II. MEETING    STREAMS.  361 

saw  me,  if  you  remember — you  saw  me  here  in  charades,  and  as 
Hermione,"  said  Gwendolen,  really  fearing  that  Klesmer  had 
forgotten. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  answered,  quickly,  "  I  remember — I  remember 
perfectly,"  and  again  walked  to  the  other  end  of  the  room. 
It  was  difficult  for  him  to  refrain  from  this  kind  of  movement 
when  he  w^s  in  any  argument  either  audible  or  silent. 

Gwendolen  felt  that  she  was  being  weighed.  The  delay  was 
unpleasant.  But  she  did  not  yet  conceive  that  the  scale  could 
dip  on  the  wrong  side,  and  it  seemed  to  her  only  graceful  to 
say,  "  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  taking  the 
trouble  to  give  me  your  advice,  whatever  it  may  be." 

"  Miss  Harleth,"  said  Klesmer,  turning  toward  her,  and  speak- 
ing with  a  slight  increase  of  accent,  "  I  will  v^eil  nothing  from 
you  in  tljis  matter.  I  should  reckon  myself  guilty  if  I  put  a 
false  visage  on  things  —  made  them  too  black  or  too  white. 
The  gods  have  a  curse  for  him  who  willingly  tells  another  the 
wrong  road.  And  if  I  misled  one  who  is  so  young,  so  beauti- 
ful— who,  I  trust,  will  find  her  happiness  along  the  right  road, 
I  should  regard  myself  as  a — Bosewichty  In  the  last  word 
Klesmer's  had  dropped  to  a  loud  whisper. 

Gwendolen  felt  a  sinking  of  heart  under  this  unexpected 
solemnity,  and  kept  a  sort  of  fascinated  gaze  on  Klesmer's  face, 
while  he  went  on : 

"  You  are  a  beautiful  young  lady — you  have  been  brought 
up  in  case — you  have  done  what  you  would — you  have  not 
said  to  yourself,  *  I  must  know  this  exactly,'  *  I  must  under- 
stand this  exactly,'  'I  must  do  this  exactly'"  —  in  uttering 
these  three  terrible  musts,  Klesmer  lifted  up  three  long  fingers 
in  succession.  "  In  sum,  you  have  not  been  called  upon  to  be 
any  thing  but  a  charming  young  lady,  whom  it  is  an  impolite- 
ness to  find  fault  with." 

He  paused  an  instant ;  then  resting  his  fingers  on  his  hips 
again,  and  thrusting  out  his  powerful  chin,  he  said : 

"  Well,  then,  with  that  preparation,  you  wish  to  try  the  life 
of  the  artist;  you  wish  to  try  a  life  of  arduous,  unceasing 
work,  and — uncertain  praise.  Your  praise  would  have  to  be 
earned,  like  your  bread ;  and  both  would  come  slowly,  scantily 
— what  do  I  say  ? — they  might  hardly  come  at  all." 


262  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

This  tone  of  discouragement,  which  Klesmer  half  hopecj 
might  suffice  without  any  thing  more  unpleasant,  roused  some 
resistance  in  Gwendolen.  AYith  a  slight  turn  of  her  head 
away  from  him,  and  an  air  of  pique,  she  said : 

"  I  thought  that  you,  being  an  artist,  would  consider  the  life 
one  of  the  most  honorable  and  delightful.  And  if  I  can  do 
nothing  better  ? — I  suppose  I  can  put  up  with  the  same  risks  as 
other  people  do." 

"Do  nothing  better?"  said  Klesmer,  a  little  fired.  "No, 
my  dear  Miss  Harleth,  you  could  do  nothing  better — neither 
man  nor  woman  could  do  any  thing  better — if  you  could  do 
what  was  best  or  good  of  its  kind.  I  am  not  decrying  the  life 
of  the  true  artist.  I  am  exalting  it.  I  say,  it  is  out  of  the 
reach  of  any  but  choice  organizations — natures  framed  to  love 
perfection  and  to  labor  for  it ;  ready,  like  all  true-lovers,  to  en- 
dure, to  wait,  to  say,  '  I  am  not  yet  worthy,  but  she — Art,  my 
mistress — is  worthy,  and  I  will  live  to  merit  her.'  An  honor- 
able life  ?  Yes.*  But  the  honor  comes  from  the  inward  voca- 
tion and  the  hard-won  achievement :  there  is  no  honor  in  don- 
ning the  life  as  a  livery." 

Some  excitement  of  yesterday  had  revived  in  Klesmer,  and 
hurried  him  into  speech  a  little  aloof  from  his  immediate 
friendly  purpose.  He  had  wished  as  delicately  as  possible  to 
rouse  in  Gwendolen  a  sense  of  her  unfitness  for  a  perilous,  dif- 
ficult course ;  but  it  was  his  wont  to  be  angry  with  the  preten- 
sions of  incompetence,  and  he  was  in  danger  of  getting  chafed. 
Conscious  of  this,  he  paused  suddenly.  But  Gwendolen's  chief 
impression  was  that  he  had  not  yet  denied  her  the  power  of 
doing  what  would  be  good  of  its  kind.  Klesmer's  fervor 
seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  glamour  such  as  he  was  prone  to  throw 
over  things  in  general ;  and  what  she  desired  to  assure  him  of 
was  that  she  was  not  afraid  of  some  preliminary  hardships. 
The  belief  that  to  present  herself  in  public  on  the  stage  must 
produce  an  effect  such  as  she  had  been  used  to  feel  certain  of 
in  private  life,  was  like  a  bit  of  her  flesh  —  it  was  not  to  be 
peeled  off  readily,  but  must  come  with  blood  and  pain.  She 
said,  in  a  tone  of  some  insistance, 

"  I  am  quite  prepared  to  bear  hardships  at  first.  Of  course, 
no  one  can  become  celebrated  all  at  once.     And  it  is  not  nee- 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  263 

essary  that  every  one  should  be  first-rate — either  actresses  or 
singers.  If  you  would  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  what  steps  I 
should  take,  I  shall  have  the  courage  to  take  them.  I  don't 
mind  going  uphill.  It  will  be  easier  than  the  dead  level  of 
being  a  governess.     I  will  take  any  steps  you  recommend." 

Klesmer  was  more  convinced  now  that  he  must  speak  plainly. 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  steps,  not  that  I  recommend,  but  that 
will  be  forced  upon  you.  It  is  all  one,  so  far,  what  your  goal 
may  be — excellence,  celebrity,  second,  third  rateness — it  is  all 
one.  You  must  go  to  town  under  the  protection  of  your  moth- 
er. You  must  put  yourself  under  training — musical,  dramat- 
ic, theatrical :  whatever  you  desire  to  do,  you  have  to  leam — "" 
here  Gwendolen  looked  as  if  she  were  going  to  speak,  but  Kles- 
mer lifted  up  his  hand  and  said,  decisively,  "  I  know.  You 
have  exercised  your  talents — you  recite — you  sing — from  the 
drawing-room  Stand jjunlct.  My  dear  fraulein,  you  must  un- 
learn all  that.  You  have  not  yet  conceived  what  excellence  is : 
you  must  unlearn  your  mistaken  admirations.  .You  must  know 
what  you  have  to  strive  for,  and  then  you  must  subdue  your 
mind  and  body  to  unbroken  disciphne.  Your  mind,  I  say. 
For  you  must  not  be  thinking  of  celebrity:  put  that  candle 
out  of  your  eyes,  and  look  only  at  excellence.  You  would,  of 
course,  earn  nothing — you  could  get  no  engagement  for  a  long 
while.  You  would  need  money  for  yourself  and  your  family. 
But  that,"  here  Klesmer  frowned  and  shook  his  fingei^  as  if  to 
dismiss  a  triviality — "  that  could  perhaps  be  found." 

Gwendolen  turned  pink  and  pale  during  this  speech.  Her 
pride  had  felt  a  terrible  knife-edge,  and  the  last  sentence  only 
made  the  smart  keener.  She  was  conscious  of  appearing 
moved,  and  tried  to  escape  from  her  weakness  by  suddenly 
walking  to  a  seat  and  pointing  out  a  chair  to  Klesmer.  He 
did  not  take  it,  but  turned  a  little  in  order  to  face  her,  and 
leaned  against  the  piano.  At  that  moment  she  wished  that 
she  had  not  sent  for  him :  this  first  experience  of  being  taken 
on  some  other  ground  than  that  of  her  social  rank  and  her 
beauty  was  becoming  bitter  to  her.  Klesmer,  preoccupied  with 
a  serious  purpose,  went  on  without  change  of  tone. 

"  Xow,  what  sort  of  issue  might  be  fairly  expected  from  all 
this  self-denial .-     You  would  ask  that.     It  is  risht  that  vour 


264  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

eyes  shoul^  be  open  to  it.  I  will  tell  you  truthfully.  The 
issue  would  be* uncertain  and — most  probably — would  not  be 
worth  much." 

At  these  relentless  words  Klesmer  put  out  his  lip  and  looked 
through  his  spectacles  with  the  air  of  a  monster  impenetrable 
by  beauty. 

Gwendolen's  eyes  began  to  burn,  but  the  dread  of  showing 
weakness  urged  her  to  added  self-control.  She  compelled  her- 
self to  say,  in  a  hard  tone, 

"  You  think  I  want  talent,  or  am  too  old  to  begin." 

Klesmer  made  a  sort  of  hum,  and  then  descended  on  an  em- 
phatic "  Yes !  The  desire  and  the  training  should  have  begun 
seven  years  ago  —  or  a  good  deal  earlier.  A  mountebank's 
child  who  helps  her  father  to  earn  shillings  when  she  is  six 
years  old — a  child  that  inherits  a  singing  throat  from  a  long 
line  of  choristers,  and  learns  to  sing  as  it  learns  to  talk,  has 
a  likelier  beginning.  Any  great  achievement  in  acting  or  in 
music  grows  with  the  growth.  Whenever  an  artist  has  been 
able  to  say,  *  I  came,  I  saw,  I  conquered,'  it  has  been  at  the 
end  of  patient  practice.  Genius  at  first  is  little  more  than 
a  great  capacity  for  receiving  discipline.  Singing  and  acting, 
like  the  fine  dexterity  of  the  juggler  with  his  cups  and  balls, 
require  a  shaping  of  the  organs  toward  a  finer  and  finer  cer- 
tainty of  effect.  Your  muscles — your  whole  frame — must  go 
like  a  watch,  true,  true,  true,  to  a  hair.  That  is  the  work  of 
spring-time,  before  habits  have  been  determined." 

"  I  did  not  pretend  to  genius,"  said  Gwendolen,  still  feeling 
that  she  might  somehow  do  what  Klesmer  wanted  to  represent 
as  impossible.  "I  only  supposed  that  I  might  have  a  little 
talent — enough  to  improve." 

"  I  don't  deny  that,"  said  Klesmer.  "  If  you  had  been  put 
in  the  right  track  some  years  ago  and  had  worked  well,  you 
might  now  have  made  a  public  singer,  though  I  don't  think 
your  voice  would  have  counted  for  much  in  public.  For  the 
stage  your  personal  charms  and  intelligence  might  then  have 
told  without  the  present  drawback  of  inexperience — lack  of 
discipline — lack  of  instruction." 

Certainly  Klesmer  seemed  cruel,  but  his  feeling  was  the 
reverse  of  cruel.     Our  speech,  even  when  we  are  most  single- 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  265 

minded,  can  never  take  its  line  absolutely  from  one  impulse; 
but  Klesmer's  was  as  far  as  possible  directed  by  compassion 
for  poor  Gwendolen's  ignorant  eagerness  to  enter  on  a  course 
of  which  he  saw  all  the  miserable  details  with  a  definiteness 
w^hich  he  could  not,  if  he  would,  have  conveyed  to  her  mind. 

Gwendolen,  however,  was  not  convinced.  Her  self-opinion 
rallied,  and  since  the  counselor  whom  she  had  called  in  gave 
a  decision  of  such  severe  peremptoriness,  she  was  tempted  to 
think  that  his  judgment  was  not  only  fallible,  but  biased.  It 
occurred  to  her  that  a  simpler  and  wiser  step  for  her  to  have 
taken  would  have  been  to  send  a  letter  through  the  post  to 
the  manager  of  a  London  theatre,  asking  him  to  make  an 
appointment.  She  would  make  no  further  reference  to  her 
singing :  Klesmer,  she  saw,  had  set  himself  against  her  singing. 
But  she  felt  equal  to  arguing  with  him  about  her  going  on  the 
stage,  and  she  answered  in  a  resistant  tone, 

"  I  understand,  of  course,  that  no  one  can  be  a  finished  act 
ress  at  once.  It  may  be  impossible  to  tell  beforehand  whether 
I  should  succeed ;  but  that  seems  to  me  a  reason  w^hy  I  should 
try.  I  should  have  thought  that  I  might  have  taken  an  en- 
gagement at  a  theatre  meanwhile,  so  as  to  earn  money  and 
study  at  the  same  time." 

"  Can't  be  done,  my  dear  Miss  Harleth — I  speak  plainly — 
it  can't  be  done.  I  must  clear  your  mind  of  these  notions, 
which  have  no  more  resemblance  to  reality  than  a  pantomime. 
Ladies  and  gentlemen  think  that  when  they  have  made  their 
toilet  and  drawn  on  their  gloves  they  are  as  presentable  on 
the  stage  as  in  a  drawing-room.  No  manager  thinks  that. 
With  all  your  grace  and  charm,  if  you  w^ere  to  present  your- 
self as  an  aspirant  to  the  stage,  a  manager  would  either  require 
you  to  pay  as  an  amateur  for  being  allowed  to  perform,  or  he 
would  tell  you  to  go  and  be  taught — trained  to  bear  yourself 
on  the  stage,  as  a  horse,  however  beautiful,  must  be  trained  for 
the  circus ;  to  say  nothing  of  that  study  which  would  enable 
you  to  personate  a  character  consistently,  and  animate  it  with 
the  natural  language  of  face,  gesture,  and  tone.  For  you  to 
get  an  engagement  fit  for  you  straight  away  is  out  of  the 
question." 

"  I  really  can  not  understand  that,"  said  Gwendolen,  rather 

Vol.  L— 12 


266  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

haughtily ;  then,  checking  herself,  she  added,  in  another  tone, 
"  I  shall  be  obliged  to  you  if  ^  you  will  explain  how  it  is  that 
such  poor  actresses  get  engaged.  I  have  been  to  the  theatre 
several  times,  and  I  am  sure  there  were  actresses  who  seemed 
to  me  to  act  not  at  all  well,  and  who  were  quite  plain." 

"Ah,  my  dear  Miss  Harleth,  that  is  the  easy  criticism  of  the 
buyer.  We  who  buy  slippers  toss  away  this  pair  and  the  other 
as  clumsy ;  but  there  went  an  apprenticeship  to  the  making  of 
them.  Excuse  me :  you  could  not  at  present  teach  one  of 
those  actresses;  but  there  is  certainly  much  that  she  could 
teach  you.  For  example,  she  can  pitch  her  voice  so  as  to  be 
heard :  ten  to  one  you  could  not  do  it  till  after  many  trials. 
Merely  to  stand  and  move  on  the  stage  is  an  art  —  requires 
practice.  It  is  understood  that  we  are  not  now  talking  of  a 
comparse  in  a  petty  theatre  who  earns  the  wages  of  a  needle- 
woman.    That  is  out  of  the  question  for  you." 

"  Of  course  I  must  earn  more  than  that,"  said  Gwendolen, 
with  a  sense  of  wincing  rather  than  of  being  refuted;  "but  I 
think  I  could  soon  learn  to  do  tolerably  well  all  those  little 
things  you  have  mentioned.  I  am  not  so  very  stupid.  And 
even  in  Paris  I  am  sure  I  saw  two  actresses  playing  important 
ladies'  parts  who  were  not  at  all  ladies,  and  quite  ugly.  I  sup- 
pose I  have  no  particular  talent,  but  I  must  think  it  is  an  ad- 
vantage on  the  stage  to  be  a  lady,  and  not  a  perfect  fright." 

"  Ah,  let  us  understand  each  other,"  said  Klesmer,  with  a  flash 
of  new  meaning.  "  I  was  speaking  of  what  you  would  have 
to  go  through  if  you  aimed  at  becoming  a  real  artist — if  you 
took  music  and  the  drama  as  a  higher  vocation  in  which  you 
would  strive  after  excellence.  On  that  head,  what  I  have  said 
stands  fast.  You  would  find  —  after  your  education  in  doing 
things  slackly  for  one-and-twenty  years  —  great  difficulties  in 
study :  you  would  find  mortifications  in  the  treatment  you 
would  get  when  you  presented  yourself  on  the  footing  of  skill. 
You  would  be  subjected  to  tests ;  people  would  no  longer  feign 
not  to  see  your  blunders.  You  would  at  first  only  be  accepted 
on  trial.  You  would  have  to  bear  what  I  may  call  a  glaring  in- 
significance :  any  success  must  be  won  by  the  utmost  patience. 
You  would  have  to  keep  your  place  in  a  crowd,  and,  after  all,  it 
is  likely  you  would  lose  it  and  get  out  of  sight.     If  you  deter- 


BOOK  III. MAIDENS  CHOOSING.  267 

mine  to  face  these  hardships  and  still  try,  you  will  have  the  dig- 
nity of  a  high  purpose,  even  though  you  may  have  chosen  un- 
fortunately. You  will  have  some  merit,  though  you  may  win 
no  prize.  You  have  asked  my  judgment  on  your  chances  of 
winning.  I  don't  pretend  to  speak  absolutely ;  but  measuring 
probabilities,  my  judgment  is,  you  w^ill  hardly  achieve  more 
than  mediocrity." 

Klesmer  had  delivered  himself  with  emphatic  rapidity,  and 
now  paused  a  moment.  Gwendolen  was  motionless,  looking  at 
her  hands,  which  lay  over  each  other  on  her  lap,  till  the  deep- 
toned,  long-drawn  ''But^^  with  which  he  resumed,  had  a  start- 
ling effect,  and  made  her  look  at  him  again. 

"  But — there  are  certainly  other  ideas,  other  dispositions,  with 
which  a  young  lady  may  take  up  an  art  that  will  bring  her  be- 
fore the  public.  She  may  rely  on  the  unquestioned  power  of 
her  beauty  as  a  passport.  She  may  desire  to  exhibit  herself  to 
an  admiration  which  dispenses  with  skill.  This  goes  a  certain 
way  on  the  stage  :  not  in  music  :  but  on  the  stage,  beauty  is 
taken  when  there  is  nothing  more  commanding  to  be  had. 
Not  without  some  drilling,  however :  as  I  have  said  before, 
technicalities  have  in  any  case  to  be  mastered.  But  these  ex- 
cepted, we  have  here  nothing  to  do  with  art.  The  woman  who 
takes  up  this  career  is  not  an  artist :  she  is  usually  one  who 
thinks  of  entering  on  a  luxurious  life  by  a  short  and  easy  road 
— perhaps  by  marriage — that  is  her  most  brilliant  chance,  and 
the  rarest.  Still,  her  career  will  not  be  luxurious  to  begin  with : 
she  can  hardly  earn  her  own  poor  bread  independently  at  once, 
and  the  indignities  she  will  be  liable  to  are  such  as  I  will  not 
speak  of." 

"  I  desire  to  be  independent,"  said  Gwendolen,  deeply  stung 
and  confusedly  apprehending  some  scorn  for  herself  in  Kles- 
mer's  words.  "  That  was  my  reason  for  asking  whether  I  could 
not  get  an  immediate  engagement.  Of  course,  T  can  not  know 
how  things  go  on  about  theatres.  But  I  thought  that  I  could 
have  made  myself  independent.  I  have  no  money,  and  I  will 
not  accept  help  from  any  one." 

■  Her  wounded  pride  could  not  rest  without  making  this  dis- 
claimer. It  was  intolerable  to  her  that  Klesmer  should  imagine 
her  to  have  expected  other  help  from  him  than  advice. 


268  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

.  "  That  is  a  hard  saying  for  your  friends,"  said  Klesmer,  recov- 
ering the  gentleness  of  tone  Avith  which  he  had  begun  the  con- 
versation. "  I  have  given  you  pain.  That  was  inevitable.  I 
was  bound  to  put  the  truth,  the  unvarnished  truth  before  you. 
I  have  not  said — I  will  not  say — you  will  do  wrong  to  choose 
the  hard,  climbing  path  of  an  endeavoring  artist.  You  have  to 
compare  its  difficulties  with  those  of  any  less  hazardous — any 
more  private  course  which  opens  itself  to  you.  If  you  take 
that  more  couras^eous  resolve,  I  will  ask  leave  to  shake  hands 
with  you  on  the  strength  of  our  freemasonry,  where  we  are  all 
vowed  to  the  service  of  Art,  and  to  serve  her  by  helping  every 
fellow-servant." 

Gwendolen  was  silent,  again  looking  at  her  hands.  She  felt 
herself  very  far  away  from  taking  the  resolve  that  would  en- 
force acceptance  ;  and  after  waiting  an  instant  or  two,  Klesmer 
went  on  with  deepened  seriousness  : 

"  Where  there  is  the  duty  of  service,  there  must  be  the  duty 
of  accepting  it.  The  question  is  not  one  of  personal  obligation. 
And  in  relation  to  practical  matters  immediately  affecting  your 
future — excuse  my  permitting  myself  to  mention  in  confidence 
an  affair  of  my  own.  I  am  expecting  an  event  which  would 
make  it  easy  for  me  to  exert  myself  on  your  behalf  in  further- 
ing your  opportunities  of  instruction  and  residence  in  London 
— under  the  care,  that  is,  of  your  family — without  need  for  anx- 
iety on  your  part.  If  you  resolve  to  take  art  as  a  bread-study, 
you  need  only  undertake  the  study  at  first ;  the  bread  will  be 
found  without  trouble.  The  event  I  mean  is  my  marriage — in 
fact,  you  will  receive  this  as  a  matter  of  confidence — my  mar- 
riage with  Miss  Arrowpoint,  which  will  more  than  double  such 
right  as  I  have  to  be  trusted  by  you  as  a  friend.  Your  friend- 
ship will  have  greatly  risen  in  value  for  her  by  your  having 
adopted  that  generous  labor." 

Gwendolen's  face  had  begun  to  burn.  That  Klesmer  was 
about  to  marry  Miss  Arrowpoint  caused  her  no  surprise,  and  at 
another  moment  she  would  have  amused  herself  in  quickly  im- 
agining the  scenes  that  must  have  occurred  at  Quetcham.  But 
what  engrossed  her  feeling,  what  filled  her  imagination  now, 
was  the  panorama  of  her  own  immediate  future  that  Klesmer's 
words  seemed  to  have  unfolded.     The  suggestion  of  Miss  Ar- 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  269 

rowpoint  as  a  patroness  was  only  another  detail  added  to  its 
repulsiveness  :  Klesmer's  proposal  to  help  her  seemed  an  ad- 
ditional irritation  after  the  humiliating  judgment  he  had  passed 
on  her  capabilities.  His  words  had  really  bitten  into  her  self- 
confidence,  and  turned  it  into  the  pain  of  a  bleeding  wound ; 
and  the  idea  of  presenting  herself  before  other  judges  was  now 
poisoned  with  the  dread  that  they  also  might  be  harsh :  they 
also  would  not  recognize  the  talent  she  was  conscious  of.  But 
she  controlled  herself,  and  rose  from  her  seat  before  she  made 
any  answer.  It  seemed  natural  that  she  should  pause.  She 
went  to  the  piano  and  looked  absently  at  leaves  of  music, 
pinching  up  the  corners.  At  last  she  turned  toward  Klesmer, 
and  said,  with  almost  her  usual  air  of  proud  equality,  which  in 
this  interview  had  not  been  hitherto  perceptible, 

"  I  congratulate  you  sincerely,  Herr  Klesmer.  I  think  I 
never  saw  any  one  more  admirable  than  Miss  Arrowpoint.  And 
I  have  to  thank  you  for  every  sort  of  kindness  this  mornino-. 
But  I  can't  decide  now.  K  I  make  the  resolve  you  have  spo- 
ken of,  I  will  use  your  permission — I  will  let  you  know.  But 
I  fear  the  obstacles  are  too  great.  In  any  case,  I  am  deeply 
obliged  to  you.  It  was  very  bold  of  me  to  ask  you  to  take 
this  trouble." 

Klesmer's  inward  remark  was,  "  She  will  never  let  me  know." 
But  with  the  most  thorough  respect  in  his  manner,  he  said, 
"  Command  me  at  any  time.  There  is  an  address  on  this  card 
which  will  always  find  me  with  little  delay." 

AMien  he  had  taken  up  his  hat  and  was  going  to  make  his 
bow,  Gwendolen's  better  self,  conscious  of  an  ingratitude  which 
the  clear -seeing  Klesmer  must  have  penetrated,  made  a  des- 
perate effort  to  find  its  way  above  the  stifling  layers  of  egoistic 
disappointment  and  irritation.  Looking  at  him  with  a  glance 
of  the  old  gayety,  she  put  out  her  hand,  and  said,  with  a  smile, 
"  If  I  take  the  wrong  road,  it  will  not  be  because  of  your  flat- 
tery." 

"  God  forbid  that  you  should  take  any  road  but  one  where 
you  will  find  and  give  happiness!"  said  Klesmer,  fervently. 
Then,  in  foreign  fashion,  he  touched  her  fingers  lightly  with 
his  lips,  and  in  another  minute  she  heard  the  sound  of  his  de- 
parting wheels  getting  more  distant  on  the  gravel. 


270  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Gwendolen  had  never  in  her  Ufe  felt  so  miserable.  No  sob 
came,  no  passion  of  tears,  to  relieve  her.  Her  eyes  were  burn- 
ing ;  and  the  noonday  only  brought  into  more  dreary  clearness 
the  absence  of  interest  from  her  life.  All  memories,  all  objects, 
the  pieces  of  music  displayed,  the  open  piano^ — the  very  re- 
flection of  herself  in  the  glass  —  seemed  no  better  than  the 
packed-up  shows  of  a  departing  fair.  For  the  first  time  since 
her  consciousness  began,  she  was  having  a  vision  of  herself  on 
the  common  level,  and  had  lost  the  innate  sense  that  there  were 
reasons  why  she  should  not  be  slighted,  elbowed,  jostled — treat- 
ed like  a  passenger  with  a  third-class  ticket,  in  spite  of  private 
objections  on  her  own  part.  She  did  not  move  about;  the 
prospects  begotten  by  disappointment  were  too  oppressively 
preoccupying ;  she  threw  herself  into  the  shadiest  corner  of  a 
settee,  and  pressed  her  fingers  over  her  burning  eyelids.  Every 
word  that  Klesmer  had  said  seemed  to  have  been  branded  into 
her  memory,  as  most  words  are  which  bring  with  them  a  new 
set  of  impressions  and  make  an  epoch  for  us.  Only  a  few 
hours  before,  the  dawning  smile  of  self -contentment  rested  on 
her  lips  as  she  vaguely  imagined  a  future  suited  to  her  wishes  : 
it  seemed  but  the  affair  of  a  year  or  so  for  her  to  become  the 
most  approved  Juliet  of  the  time ;  or,  if  Klesmer  encouraged 
her  idea  of  being  a  singer,  to  proceed  by  more  gradual  steps  to 
her  place  in  the  opera,  while  she  won  money  and  applause  by 
occasional  performances.  Why  not  ?  At  home,  at  school, 
among  acquaintances,  she  had  been  used  to  have  her  conscious 
superiority  admitted ;  and  she  had  moved  in  a  society  where 
every  thing,  from  low  arithmetic  to  high  art,  is  of  the  amateur 
kind  politely  supposed  to  fall  short  of  perfection  only  because 
gentlemen  and  ladies  are  not  obliged  to  do  more  than  they 
like — otherwise  they  would  probably  give  forth  abler  writings 
and  show  themselves  more  commanding  artists  than  any  the 
world  is  at  present  obliged  to  put  up  with.  The  self-confident 
visions  that  had  beguiled  her  were  not  of  a  highly  exceptional 
kind ;  and  she  had  at  least  shown  some  rationality  in  consulting 
the  person  who  knew  the  most  and  had  flattered  her  the  least. 
In  asking  Klesmer's  advice,  however,  she  had  rather  been  borne 
up  by  a  belief  in  his  latent  admiration  than  bent  on  knowing 
any  thing  more  unfavorable  that  might  have  lain  behind  hia 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  27 1 

slight  objections  to  lier  singing ;  and  the  truth  she  had  asked 
for,  with  an  expectation  that  it  would  be  agreeable,  had  come 
like  a  lacerating  thong. 

"Too  old — should  have  begun  seven  years  ago — you  will 
not,  at  best,  achieve  more  than  mediocrity  —  hard,  incessant 
work,  uncertain  praise — bread  coming  slowly,  scantily,  perhaps 
not  at  all  —  mortifications,  people  no  longer  feigning  not  to 
see  your  blunders — glaring  insignificance" — all  these  phrases 
rankled  in  her ;  and  even  more  galling  was  the  hint  that  she 
could  only  be  accepted  on  the  stage  as  a  beauty  who  hoped  to 
get  a  husband.  The  "  indignities  "  that  she  might  be  visited 
with  had  no  very  definite  form  for  her,  but  the  mere  association 
of  any  thing  called  "  indignity  "  with  herself  roused  a  resentful 
alarm.  And  alone  with  the  vaguer  images  which  were  raised 
by  those  biting  words  came  the  more  precise  conception  of 
disagreeables  which  her  experience  enabled  her  to  imagine. 
How  could  she  take  her  mamma  and  the  four  sisters  to  Lon- 
don, if  it  were  not  possible  for  her  to  earn  money  at  once  ? 
And  as  for  submitting  to  be  a  protegee,  and  asking  her  mamma 
to  submit  with  her  to  the  humiliation  of  being  supported  by 
Miss  Arrowpoint — that  was  as  bad  as  being  a  governess ;  nay, 
worse ;  for  suppose  the  end  of  all  her  study  to  be  as  worthless 
as  Klesmer  clearly  expected  it  to  be,  the  sense  of  favors  re- 
ceived and  never  repaid  would  imbitter  the  miseries  of  dis- 
appointment. Klesmer  doubtless  had  magnificent  ideas  about 
helping  artists ;  but  how  could  he  know  the  feelings  of  ladies 
in  such  matters  ?  It  was  all  over :  she  had  entertained  a  mis- 
taken hope ;  and  there  was  an  end  of  it. 

"  An  end  of  it  1"  said  Gwendolen,  aloud,  starting  from  her 
seat  as  she  heard  the  steps  and  voices  of  her  mamma  and  sis- 
ters coming  in  from  church.  She  hunied  to  the  piano  and 
began  gathering  together  her  pieces  of  music  with  assumed 
diligence,  while  the  expression  on  her  pale  face  and  in  her 
burning  eyes  was  what  would  have  suited  a  woman  enduring  a 
wrong  which  she  might  not  resent,  but  would  probably  revenge. 

"  Well,  my  darling,"  said  gentle  Mrs.  Davilow,  entering,  "  I 
see  by  the  wheel -marks  that  Klesmer  has  been  here.  Have 
you  been  satisfied  with  the  interview  ?"  She  had  some  guesses 
as  to  its  object,  but  felt  timid  about  implying  them. 


272  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  Satisfied,  mamma  ?  Oh  yes,"  said  Gwendolen,  in  a  liio;h, 
hard  tone,  for  which  she  must  be  excused,  because  she  dreaded 
a  scene  of  emotion.  If  she  did  not  set  herself  resolutely  to 
feign  proud  indifference,  she  felt  that  she  must  fall  into  a  pas- 
sionate outburst  of  despair,  which  would  cut  her  mamma  more 
deeply  than  all  the  rest  of  their  calamities. 

"  Your  uncle  and  aunt  were  disappointed  at  not  seeing  you," 
said  Mrs.  Davilow,  coming  near  the  piano,  and  watching  Gwen- 
dolen's movements.     "  I  only  said  that  you  wanted  rest." 

"  Quite  right,  mamma,"  said  Gwendolen,  in  the  same  tone, 
turning  to  put  away  some  music. 

''Am  I  not  to  know  any  thing  now, Gwendolen ?  Am  I  al- 
ways to  be  in  the  dark  ?"  said  Mrs.  Davilow^  too  keenly  sensi- 
tive to  her  daughter's  manner  and  expression  not  to  fear  that 
something  painful  had  occurred. 

"  There  is  really  nothing  to  tell  now,  mamma,"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, in  a  still  higher  voice.  "  I  had  a  mistaken  idea  about 
something  I  could  do.  Herr  Klesmer  has  undeceived  ihe. 
That  is  all." 

"  Don't  look  and  speak  in  that  way,  my  dear  child :  I  can 
not  bear  it,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  breaking  down.  She  felt  an 
indefinable  terror. 

Gwendolen  looked  at  her  a  moment  in  silence,  biting  her 
inner  lip ;  then  she  went  up  to  her,  and  putting  her  hands  on 
her  mamma's  shoulders,  said,  with  a  drop  of  her  voice  to  the 
lowest  under-tone,  "  Mamma,  don't  speak  to  me  now.  It  is 
useless  to  cry  and  waste  our  strength  over  what  can't  be  alter- 
ed. You  will  live  at  Sawyer's  cottage,  and  I  am  going  to  the 
bishop's  daughters.  There  is  no  more  to  be  said.  Things  can 
not  be  altered,  and  who  cares  ?  It  makes  no  difference  to  any 
one  else  what  we  do.  We  must  try  not  to  care  ourselves. 
AVe  must  not  give  way.  I  dread  giving  way.  Help  me  to  be 
quiet." 

Mrs.  Davilow  was  like  a  frightened  child  under  her  daughter's 
face  and  voice :  her  tears  were  arrested,  and  she  went  away  in 
silence. 


BOOK    III.— MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  273 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  I  question  things  and  do  not  find 
One  that  will  answer  to  my  mind ; 
And  all  the  world  appears  unkind." 

Wordsworth. 

Gwendolen  was  glad  that  she  had  got  through  her  inter- 
view with  Klesmer  before  meeting  her  uncle  and  aunt.  She 
had  made  up  her  mind  now  that  there  were  only  disagreeables 
before  her,  and  she  felt  able  to  maintain  a  dogged  calm  in  the 
face  of  any  humiliation  that  might  be  proposed. 

The  meeting  did  not  happen  until  the  Monday,  when  Gwen- 
dolen went  to  the  rectory  with  her  mamma.  They  had  called 
at  Sawyer's  cottage  by  the  way,  and  had  seen  every  cranny  of 
the  narrow  rooms  in  a  midday  light  unsoftened  by  blinds  and 
curtains ;  for  the  furnishing,  to  be  done  by  gleanings  from  the 
rectory,  had  not  yet  begun. 

"How  shall  you  endure  it,  mamma?"  said  Gwendolen,  as 
they  walked  away.  She  had  not  opened  her  lips  while  they 
were  looking  round  at  the  bare  walls  and  floors,  and  the  little 
garden  with  the  cabbage-stalks,  and  the  yew  arbor  all  dust  and 
cobwebs  within.  "You  and  the  four  girls  all  in  that  closet 
of  a  room,  with  the  green  and  yellow  paper  pressing  on  your 
eyes  ?     And  without  me  ?" 

"  It  will  be  some  comfort  that  you  have  not  to  bear  it  too, 
dear." 

"  If  it  were  not  that  I  must  get  some  money,  I  would  rather 
be  there  than  go  to  be  a  governess." 

"Don't  set  yourself  against  it  beforehand,  Gwendolen.  If 
you  go  to  the  palace,  you  will  have  every  luxury  about  you. 
And  you  know  how  much  you  have  always  cared  for  that. 
You  will  not  find  it  so  hard  as  going  up  and  down  those  steep, 
narrow  stairs,  and  hearing  the  crockery  rattle  through  the  house, 
and  the  dear  girls  talking." 

"  It  is  like  a  bad  dream,"  said  Gwendolen,  impetuously.  "  I 
12* 


274  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

can  not  believe  that  my  uncle  will  let  you  go  to  such  a  place. 
He  ought  to  have  taken  some  other  steps." 

"Don't  be  unreasonable,  dear  child.  What  could  he  have 
done  ?" 

"  That  was  for  him  to  find  out.  It  seems  to  me  a  very  ex- 
traordinary world  if  people  in  our  position  must  sink  in  this 
way  all  at  once,"  said  Gwendolen,  the  other  worlds  with  which 
she  was  conversant  being  constructed  with  a  sense  of  fitness 
that  arranged  her  own  future  agreeably. 

It  was  her  temper  that  framed  her  sentences  under  this  en- 
tirely new  pressure  of  evils :  she  could  have  spoken  more  suit- 
ably on  the  vicissitudes  in  other  people's  lives,  though  it  was 
never  her  aspiration  to  express  herself  virtuously  so  much  as 
cleverly  —  a  point  to  be  remembered  in  extenuation  of  her 
words,  which  were  usually  worse  than  she  was. 

And,  notwithstanding  the  keen  sense  of  her  own  bruises,  she 
was  capable  of  some  compunction  when  her  uncle  and  aunt  re- 
ceived her  with  a  more  affectionate  kindness  than  they  had 
ever  shown  before.  She  could  not  but  be  struck  by  the  digni- 
fied cheerfulness  with  which  they  talked  of  the  necessary  econ- 
omies in  their  way  of  living,  and  in  the  education  of  the  boys. 
Mr.  Gascoigne's  worth  of  character,  a  little  obscured  by  worldly 
opportunities — as  the  poetic  beauty  of  women  is  obscured  by 
the  demands  of  fashionable  dressing  —  showed  itself  to  great 
advantage  under  this  sudden  reduction  of  fortune.  Prompt 
and  methodical,  he  had  set  himself  not  only  to  put  down  his 
carriage,  but  to  reconsider  his  worn  suits  of  clothes,  to  leave 
off  meat  for  breakfast,  to  do  without  periodicals,  to  get  Edwy 
from  school,  and  arrange  hours  of  study  for  all  the  boys  under 
himself,  and  to  order  the  whole  establishment  on  the  sparest 
footing  possible.  For  all  healthy  people  economy  has  its  pleas- 
ures; and  the  rector's  spirit  had  spread  through  the  house- 
hold. Mrs.  Gascoigne  and  Anna,  who  always  made  papa  their 
model,  really  did  not  miss  any  thing  they  cared  about  for 
themselves,  and  in  all  sincerity  felt  that  the  saddest  part  of  the 
family  losses  was  the  change  for  Mrs.  Davilow  and  her  chil- 
dren. 

Anna  for  the  first  time  could  merge  her  resentment  on  be- 
half of  Rex  in  her  sympathy  with  Gwendolen ;  and  Mrs.  Gas- 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  2^5 

coigne  was  disposed  to  hope  that  trouble  would  have  a  salutary 
effect  on  her  niece,  without  thinking  it  her  duty  to  add  any 
bitters  by  way  of  increasing  the  salutariness.  They  had  both 
been  busy  devising  how  to  get  blinds  and  curtains  for  the  cot- 
tage out  of  the  household  stores ;  but  with  delicate  feeling  they 
left  these  matters  in  the  background,  and  talked  at  first  of 
Gwendolen's  journey,  and  the  comfort  it  was  to  her  mamma  to 
have  her  at  home  again. 

In  fact,  there  was  nothing  for  Gwendolen  to  take  as  a  justi- 
fication for  extending  her  discontent  with  events  to  the  persons 
immediately  around  her ;  and  she  felt  shaken  into  a  more  alert 
attention,  as  if  by  a  call  to  drill  that  every  body  else  was  obey- 
ing, when  her  uncle  began,  in  a  voice  of  firm  kindness,  to  talk 
to  her  of  the  efforts  he  had  been  making  to  get  her  a  situation 
which  would  offer  her  as  many  advantages  as  possible.  Mr. 
Gascoigne  had  not  forgotten  Grandcourt,  but  the  possibility  of 
further  advances  from  that  quarter  was  something  too  vague 
for  a  man  of  his  good  sense  to  be  determined  by  it :  uncertain- 
ties of  that  kind  must  not  now  slacken  his  action  in  doing  the 
best  he  could  for  his  niece  under  actual  conditions. 

"  I  felt  that  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  Gwendolen ;  for  a 
position  in  a  good  family,  where  you  will  have  some  consider- 
ation, is  not  to  be  had  at  a  moment's  notice.  And,  however 
long  we  waited,  we  could  hardly  find  one  where  you  would  be 
better  off  than  at  Bishop  Mompert's.  I  am  known  to  both 
him  and  Mrs.  Mompert,  and  that,  of  course,  is  an  advantage  for 
you.  Our  coiTespondence  has  gone  on  favorably ;  but  I  can 
not  be  surprised  that  Mrs.  Mompert  wishes  to  see  you  before 
making  an  absolute  engagement.  She  thinks  of  arranging  for 
you  to  meet  her  at  Wancester  when  she  is  on  her  way  to  town. 
I  dare  say  you  will  feel  the  interview  rather  trying  for  you,  my 
dear ;  but  you  will  have  a  little  time  to  prepare  your  mind." 

"  Do  you  know  why  she  wants  to  see  me,  uncle  ?"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, whose  mind  had  quickly  gone  over  various  reasons  that 
an  imaginary  Mrs.  Mompert  with  three  daughters  might  be 
supposed  to  entertain,  reasons  all  of  a  disagreeable  kind  to  the 
person  presenting  herself  for  inspection. 

The  rector  smiled.  "Don't  be  alarmed,  my  dear.  She 
would  like  to  have  a  more  precise  idea  of  you  than  my  report 


276  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

can  give.  And  a  mother  is  naturally  scrupulous  about  a  com- 
panion for  her  daughters.  I  have  told  her  you  are  very  young. 
But  she  herself  exercises  a  close  supervision  over  her  daughters' 
education,  and  that  makes  her  less  anxious  as  to  age.  She  is 
a  woman  of  taste  and  also  of  strict  principle,  and  objects  to 
having  a  French  person  in  the  house.  I  feel  sure  that  she  will 
think  your  manners  and  accomplishments  as  good  as  she  is 
likely  to  find ;  and  over  the  religious  and  moral  tone  of  the 
education  she,  and  indeed  the  bishop  himself,  will  preside." 

Gwendolen  dared  not  answer,  but  the  repression  of  her  de- 
cided dislike*  to  the  whole  prospect  sent  an  unusually  deep 
flush  over  her  face  and  neck,  subsiding  as  quickly  as  it  came. 
Anna,  full  of  tender  fears,  put  her  little  hand  into  her  cousin's, 
and  Mr.  Gascoigne  was  too  kind  a  man  not  to  conceive  some- 
thing of  the  trial  which  this  sudden  change  must  be  for  a  girl 
like  Gwendolen.  Bent  on  giving  a  cheerful  view  of  things,  he 
went  on  in  an  easy  tone  of  remark,  not  as  if  answering  sup- 
posed objections : 

"  I  think  so  highly  of  the  position,  that  I  should  have  been 
tempted  to  try  and  get  it  for  Anna,  if  she  had  been  at  all  like- 
ly to  meet  Mrs.  Mompert's  wants.  It  is  really  a  home,  with  a 
continuance  of  education  in  the  highest  sense :  '  governess '  is  a 
misnomer.  The  bishop's  views  are  of  a  more  decidedly  Low- 
church  color  than  my  own  —  he  is  a  close  friend  of  Lord 
Grampian's;  but  though  privately  strict,  he  is  not  by  any 
means  narrow  in  public  matters.  Indeed,  he  has  created  as  lit- 
tle dislike  in  his  diocese  as  any  bishop  on  the  bench.  He  has 
always  remained  friendly  to  me,  though  before  hi^promotion, 
when  he  was  an  incumbent  of  this  diocese,  we  had  a  little  con- 
troversy about  the  Bible  Society." 

The  rector's  words  were  too  pregnant  with  satisfactory 
meaning  to  himself  for  him  to  imagine  tbe  effect  they  pro- 
duced in  the  mind  of  his  niece.  "  Continuance  of  education  " 
— "bishop's  views" — "privately  strict" — "Bible  Society" — 
it  was  as  if  he  had  introduced  a  few  snakes  at  large  for  the 
instruction  of  ladies  who  regarded  them  as  all  alike  furnished 
with  poison-bags,  and  biting  or  stinging  according  to  conven- 
ience. To  Gwendolen,  already  shrinking  from  the  prospect 
opened  to  her,  such  phrases  came  like  the  growing  heat  of  a 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  277 

burning-glass — not  at  all  as  the  links  of  persuasive  reflection 
which  they  formed  for  the  good  uncle.  She  began  desperate- 
ly to  seek  an  alternative. 

"  There  was  another  situation,  I  think,  mamma  spoke  of  V 
she  said,  with  determined  self-mastery. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  rector,  in  rather  a  depreciatory  tone ;  "  but 
that  is  in  a  school.  I  should  not  have  the  same  satisfaction 
in  your  taking  that.  It  would  be  much  harder  work,  you  are 
aware,  and  not  so  good  in  any  other  respect.  Besides,  you  have 
not  an  equal  chance  of  getting  it." 

"  Oh  dear,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Gascoigne ;  "  it  would  be  much 
harder  for  you,  my  dear — much  less  appropriate.  You  might' 
not  have  a  bedroom  to  yourself."  And  Gwendolen's  memories 
of  school  suggested  other  particulars  which  forced  her  to  admit 
to  herself  that  this  alternative  would  be  no  relief.  She  turned 
to  her  uncle  again,  and  said,  apparently  in  acceptance  of  his  ideas, 

"  When  is  Mrs.  Mompert  likely  to  send  for  me  ?" 

"  That  is  rather  uncertain,  but  she  has  promised  not  to  en- 
tertain any  other  proposal  till  she  has  seen  you.  She  has  en- 
tered with  much  feeling  into  your  position.  It  will  be  within 
the  next  fortnight,  probably.  But  I  must  be  off  now.  I  am 
going  to  let  part  of  my  glebe  uncommonly  well." 

The  rector  ended  very  cheerfully,  leaving  the  room  with  the 
satisfactory  conviction  that  Gwendolen  was  going  to  adapt 
herself  to  circumstances,  like  a  girl  of  good  sense.  Having 
spoken  appropriately,  he  naturally  supposed  that  the  effects 
would  be  appropriate ;  being  accustomed,  as  a  household  and 
parish  authority,  to  be  asked  to  "  speak  to  "  refractory  persons, 
with  the  understanding  that  the  measure  was  morally  coercive. 

"  What  a  stay  Henry  is  to  us  all !"  said  Mrs.  Gascoigne, 
when  her  husband  had  left  the  room. 

"  He  is  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  cordially.  "  I  think 
cheerfulness  is  a  fortune  in  itself.     I  wish  I  had  it." 

"  And  Rex  is  just  like  him,"  said  Mrs.  Gascoigne.  "  I  must 
tell  you  the  comfort  we  have  had  in  a  letter  from  him.  I  must 
read  you  a  little  bit,"  she  added,  taking  the  letter  from  her 
pocket,  while  Anna  looked  rather  frightened  —  she  did  not 
know  why,  except  that  it  had  been  a  rule  with  her  not  to  men- 
tion Rex  before  Gwendolen, 


278  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

The  proud  mother  ran  her  eyes  over  the  letter,  seeking  for 
sentences  to  read  aloud.  But,  apparently,  she  had  found  it 
sown  with  what  might  seem  to  be  closer  allusions  than  she 
desired  to  the  recent  past,  for  she  looked  up,  folding  the  letter, 
and  saying : 

"  However,  he  tells  us  that  our  trouble  has  made  a  man  of 
him;  he  sees  a  reason  for  any  amount  of  work;  he  means  to 
get  a  fellowship,  to  take  pupils,  to  set  one  of  his  brothers  go- 
ing, to  be  every  thing  that  is  most  remarkable.  The  letter  is 
full  of  fun — just  like  him.  He  says,  'Tell  mother  she  has 
put  out  an  advertisement  for  a  jolly  good  hard-working  son, 
in  time  to  hinder  me  from  taking  ship ;  and  I  offer  myself  for 
the  place.'  The  letter  came  on  Friday.  I  never  saw  my  hus- 
band so  much  moved  by  any  thing  since  Rex  was  born.  It 
seemed  a  gain  to  balance  our  loss." 

This  letter,  in  fact,  was  what  had  helped  both  Mrs.  Gascoigne 
and  Anna  to  show  Gwendolen  an  unmixed  kindliness ;  and  she 
herself  felt  very  amiably  about  it,  smiling  at  Anna,  and  pinch- 
ing her  chin,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Nothing  is  wrong  with  you 
now,  is  it  ?"  She  had  no  gratuitously  ill  -  natured  feeling,  or 
egoistic  pleasure  in  making  men  miserable.  She  only  had  an 
intense  objection  to  their  making  her  miserable. 

But  when  the  talk  turned  on  furniture  for  the  cottage,  Gwen- 
dolen was  not  roused  to  show  even  a  languid  interest.  She 
thought  that  she  had  done  as  much  as  could  be  expected  of 
her  this  morning,  and,  indeed,  felt  at  an  heroic  pitch  in  keep- 
ing to  herself  the  struggle  that  was  going  on  within  her.  The 
recoil  of  her  mind  from  the  only  definite  prospect  allowed  her 
was  stronger  than  even  she  had  imagined  beforehand.  The 
idea  of  presenting  herself  before  Mrs.  Mompert  in  the  first 
instance,  to  be  approved  or  disapproved,  came  as  pressure  on 
an  already  painful  bruise :  even  as  a  governess,  it  appeared,  she 
'was  to  be  tested,  and  was  liable  to  rejection.  After  she  had 
done  herself  the  violence  to  accept  the  bishop  and  his  wife, 
they  were  still  to  consider  whether  they  would  accept  her ;  it 
was  at  her  peril  that  she  was  to  look,  speak,  or  be  silent.  And 
even  when  she  had  entered  on  her  dismal  task  of  self -constraint 
in  the  society  of  three  girls  whom  she  was  bound  incessantly 
to  edify,  the  same  process  of  inspection  was  to  go  on :  there 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  279 

was  always  to  be  Mrs.  Mompert's  supervision ;  always  some- 
thing or  other  would  be  expected  of  her  to  which  she  had  not 
the  slightest  inclination ;  and  perhaps  the  bishop  would  exam- 
ine her  on  serious  topics.  Gwendolen,  lately  used  to  the  so- 
cial successes  of  a  handsome  girl,  whose  lively  venturesomeness 
of  talk  has  the  effect  of  wit,  and  who  six  weeks  before  would 
have  pitied  the  dullness  of  the  bishop  rather  than  have  been 
embarrassed  by  him,  saw  the  life  before  her  as  an  entrance  into 
a  penitentiary.  Wild  thoughts  of  running  away  to  be  an  act- 
ress, in  spite  of  Klesmer,  came  to  her  with  the  lure  of  freedom ; 
but  his  words  still  hung  heavily  on  her  soul ;  they  had  alarmed 
her  pride  and  even  her  maidenly  dignity.  Dimly  she  conceived 
herself  getting  among  vulgar  people  who  would  treat  her 
with  rude  familiarity  —  odious  men  whose  grins  and  smirks 
would  not  be  seen  through  the  strong  grating  of  polite  society. 
Gwendolen's  daring  was  not  in  the  least  that  of  the  advent- 
uress. The  demand  to  be  held  a  lady  was  in  her  very  marrow ; 
and  when  she  had  dreamed  that  she  might  be  the  heroine  of 
the  gaming-table,  it  was  with  the  understanding  that  no  one 
should  treat  her  with  the  less  consideration,  or  presume  to  look 
at  her  with  irony,  as  Deronda  had  done.  To  be  protected  and 
petted,  and  to  have  her  susceptibilities  consulted  in  every  de- 
tail, had  gone  along  with  her  food  and  clothing  as  matters  of 
course  in  her  life.  Even  without  any  such  warning  as  Klesmer's, 
she  could  not  have  thought  it  an  attractive  freedom  to  be  thrown 
in  solitary  dependence  on  the  doubtful  civility  of  strangers. 
The  endurance  of  the  episcopal  penitentiary  was  less  repulsive 
than  1>hat ;  though  here,  too,  she  would  certainly  never  be  pet- 
ted or  have  her  susceptibilities  consulted.  Her  rebeUion 
against  this  hard  necessity  which  had  come  just  to  her  of  all 
people  in  the  world — to  her,  whom  all  circumstances  had  con- 
curred in  preparing  for  something  quite  different — was  exag- 
gerated instead  of  diminished  as  one  hour  followed  another, 
filled  with  the  imagination  of  what  she  might  have  expected  in 
her  lot  and  what  it  was  actually  to  be.  The  family  troubles, 
she  thought,  were  easier  for  every  one  than  for  her — even  for 
poor  dear  mamma,  because  she  had  always  used  herself  to  not 
enjoying.  As  to  hoping  that  if  she  went  to  the  Momperts* 
and  were  patient  a  little  while,  things  might  get  better  —  it 


280  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

would  be  stupid  to  entertain  hopes  for  herself  after  all  that 
had  happened.  Her  talents,  it  appeared,  would  never  be  rec- 
ognized as  any  thing  remarkable,  and  there  was-  not  a  single 
direction  in  which  probability  seemed  to  flatter  her  wishes. 
Some  beautiful  girls  who,  like  her,  had  read  romances  where 
even  -plain  governesses  are  centres  of  attraction  and  are  sought 
in  marriage,  might  have  solaced  themselves  a  little  by  trans- 
porting such  pictures  into  their  own  future ;  but  even  if  Gwen- 
dolen's experience  had  led  her  to  dwell  on  love-making  and 
marriage  as  her  elysium,  her  heart  was  too  much  oppressed  by 
what  was  near  to  her,  in  both  the  past  and  the  future,  for  her 
to  project  her  anticipations  very  far  off.  She  had  a  world- 
nausea  upon  her,  and  saw  no  reason  all  through  her  life  why 
she  should  wish  to  live.  No  religious  view  of  trouble  helped 
her :  her  troubles  had,  in  her  opinion,  all  been  caused  by  other 
people's  disagreeable  or  wicked  conduct ;  and  there  was  really 
nothing  pleasant  to  be  counted  on  in  the  world :  that  was  her 
feeling.  Every  thing  else  she  had  heard  said  about  trouble  was 
mere  phrase  -  making,  not  attractive  enough  for  her  to  have 
caught  it  up  and  repeated  it.  As  to  the  sweetness  of  labor  and 
fulfilled  claims;  the  interest  of  inward  and  outward  activity; 
the  impersonal  delights  of  life  as  a  perpetual  discovery ;  the 
dues  of  courage,  fortitude,  industry,  which  it  is  mere  baseness 
not  to  pay  toward  the  common  burden ;  the  supreme  worth  of 
the  teacher's  vocation ;  these,  even  if  they  had  been  eloquently 
preached  to  her,  could  have  been  n<y  more  than  faintly  appre- 
hended doctrines.  The  fact  which  wrought  upon  her  was  her 
invariable  observation  that  for  a  lady  to  become  a  governess — 
to  "take  a  situation" — was  to  descend  in  life,  and  to  be  treat- 
ed, at  best,  with  a  compassionate  patronage.  And  poor  Gwen- 
dolen had  never  dissociated  happiness  from  personal  pre-emi- 
nence and  eclat.  That  where  these  threatened  to  forsake  her, 
she  should  take  life  to  be  hardly  worth  the  having,  can  not 
make  her  so  unlike  the  rest  of  us,  men  or  women,  that  we 
should  cast  her  out  of  our  compassion,  our  moments  of  temp- 
tation to  a  mean  opinion  of  things  in  general  being  usually 
dependent  on  some  susceptibility  about  ourselves,  and  some 
dullness  to  subjects  which  every  one  else  would  consider  more 
important.     Surely  a  young  creature  is  pitiable  who  has  the 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  281 

labyrinth  of  life  before  her  and  no  clue ;  to  whom  distrust  in 
herself  and  her  good  fortune  has  come  as  a  sudden  shock,  like 
a  rent  across  the  path  that  she  was  treading  carelessly. 

In  spite  of  her  healthy  frame,  her  irreconcilable  repugnance 
affected  her  even  physically.  She  felt  a  sort  of  numbness, 
and  could  set  about  nothing ;  the  least  urgency,  even  that,  she 
ehould  take  her  meals,  was  an  irritation  to  her ;  the  speech  of 
others  on  any  subject  seemed  unreasonable,  because  it  did  not 
include  her  feeling,  and  was  an  ignorant  claim  on  her.  It  was 
not  in  her  nature  to  busy  herself  with  the  fancies  of  suicide  to 
which  disappointed  young  people  are  prone.  What  occupied 
and  exasperated  her  was  the  sense  that  there  was  nothing  for 
her  but  to  live  in  a  way  she  hated.  She  avoided  going  to  the 
rectory  again.  It  was  too  intolerable  to  have  to  look  and  talk  as 
if  she  were  compliant ;  and  she  could  not  exert  herself  to  show 
interest  about  the  furniture  of  that  horrible  cottage.  Miss 
Merry  was  staying  on  purpose  to  help,  and  such  people  as  Jo- 
cosa  liked  that  sort  of  thing.  Her  mother  had  to  make  ex- 
cuses for  her  not  appearing,  even  when  Anna  came  to  see  her. 
For  that  calm  which  Gwendolen  had  promised  herself  to  main- 
tain had  changed  into  sick  motivelessness.  She  thought,  "I 
suppose  I  shall  begin  to  pretend  by-and-by,  but  why  should  I 
do  it  now  ?" 

Her  mother  watched  her  with  silent  distress ;  and,  lapsing 
into  the  habit  of  indulgent  tenderness,  she  began  to  think  what 
she  imagined  that  Gwendolen  was  thinking,  and  to  wish  that 
every  thing  should  give  way  to  the  possibility  of  making  her 
darling  less  miserable. 

One  day  when  she  was  in  the  black-and-yellow  bedroom,  and 
her  mother  was  lingering  there  under  the  pretext  of  consider- 
ing and  arranging  Gwendolen's  articles  of  dress,  she  suddenly 
roused  herself  to  fetch  the  casket  which  contained  her  orna- 
ments. 

"  Mamma,"  she  began,  glancing  over  the  upper  layer,  "  I  had 
forgotten  these  things.  Why  didn't  you  remind  me  of  them  ? 
Do  see  about  getting  them  sold.  You  will  not  mind  about 
parting  with  them.     You  gave  them  all  to  me  long  ago." 

She  lifted  the  upper  tray  and  looked  below. 

"If  we  can  do  without  them,  darling,  I  would  rather  keep 


282  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

them  for  yon,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  seating  herself  beside  Gwen- 
dolen with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  she  was  beginning  to  talk 
about  something.  The  usual  relation  between  them  had  be- 
come reversed.  It  was  now  the  mother  who  tried  to  cheer  the 
daughter.  "  Why,  how  came  you  to  put  that  pocket-handker- 
chief in  here  ?" 

It  was  the  handkerchief  with  the  corner  torn  ofi  which 
Gwendolen  had  thrust  in  with  the  turquois  necklace. 

"  It  happened  to  be  with  the  necklace — I  was  in  a  hurry," 
said  Gwendolen,  taking  the  handkerchief  away  and  putting  it 
in  her  pocket.  "Don't  sell  the  necklace,  mamma,"  she  added, 
a  new  feeling  having  come  over  her  about  that  rescue  of  it 
which  had  formerly  been  so  offensive. 

"  No,  dear,  no ;  it  was  made  out  of  your  dear  father's  chain. 
And  I  should  prefer  not  selling  the  other  things.  None  of 
them  are  of  any  great  value.  All  my  best  ornaments  were 
taken  from  me  long  ago." 

Mrs.  Davilow  colored.  She  usually  avoided  any  reference  to 
such  facts  about  Gwendolen's  step-father  as  that  he  had  carried 
off  his  wife's  jewelry  and  disposed  of  it.  After  a  moment's 
pause  she  went  on : 

"And  these  things  have  not  been  reckoned  on  for  any  ex- 
penses.    Carry  them  with  you." 

"  That  would  be  quite  useless,  mamma,"  said  Gwendolen, 
coldly.  "Governesses  don't  wear  ornaments.  You  had  better 
get  me  a  gray  frieze  livery  and  a  straw  poke,  such  as  my  aunt's 
charity  children  wear." 

"  No,  dear,  no ;  don't  take  that  view  of  it.  I  feel  sure  the 
Momperts  will  like  you  the  better  for  being  graceful  and  ele- 
gant." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure  what  the  Momperts  will  like  me  to  be. 
It  is  enough  that  I  am  expected  to  be  what  they  like,"  said 
Gwendolen,  bitterly. 

"  If  there  is  any  thing  you  would  object  to  less — any  thing 
that  could  be  done — instead  of  your  going  to  the  bishop's,  do 
say  so,  Gwendolen.  Tell  me  what  is  in  your  heart.  I  will 
try  for  any  thing  you  wish,"  said  the  mother,  beseechingly. 
"Don't  keep  things  away  from  me.  Let  us  bear  them  to- 
gether." 


BOOK    III.= — MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  283 

"  Oh,  mamma,  there  is  nothing  to  tell.  I  can't  do  any  thing 
better.  I  must  think  myself  fortunate  if  they  will  have  me. 
I  shall  get  some  money  for  you.  That  is  the  only  thing  I 
have  to  think  of.  I  shall  not  spend  any  money  this  year :  you 
will  have  all  the  eighty  pounds.  I  don't  know  how  far  that 
will  go  in  housekeeping ;  but  you  need  not  stitch  your  poor 
fingers  to  the  bone,  and  stare  away  all  the  sight  that  the  tears 
have  left  in  your  dear  eyes." 

Gwendolen  did  not  give  any  caresses  with  her  words  as  she 
had  been  used  to  do.  She  did  not  even  look  at  her  mother, 
but  was  looking  at  the  turquois  necklace  as  she  turned  it  over 
her  fingers. 

"Bless  you  for  your  tenderness, my  good  darling!"  said  Mrs. 
Davilow,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  Don't  despair  because  there 
are  clouds  now.  You  are  so  young.  There  may  be  great 
happiness  in  store  for  you  yet." 

"I  don't  see  any  reason  for  expecting  it,  mamma,"  said 
Gwendolen,  in  a  hard  tone ;  and  Mrs.  Davilow  was  silent,  think- 
ing, as  she  had  often  thought  before,  "  What  did  happen  be- 
tween her  and  Mr.  Grandcourt  ?" 

"  I  will  keep  this  necklace,  mamma,"  said  Gwendolen,  laying 
it  apart,  and  then  closing  the  casket.  "But  do  get  the  other 
things  sold,  even  if  they  will  not  bring  much.  Ask  my  uncle 
what  to  do  with  them.  I  shall  certainly  not  use  them  again. 
I  am  going  to  take  the  veil.  I  wonder  if  all  the  poor  wretches 
who  have  ever  taken  it  felt  as  I  do." 

"•Don't  exaggerate  evils,  dear." 

"How  can  any  one  know  that  I  exaggerate,  when  I  am 
speaking  of  my  own  feeling  ?  I  did  not  say  what  any  one  else 
felt." 

She  took  out  the  torn  handkerchief  from  her  pocket  again, 
and  w^rapped  it  deliberately  round  the  necklace.  Mrs.  Davilow 
observed  the  action  with  some  surprise,  but  the  tone  of  the 
last  words  discouraged  her  from  asking  any  question. 

The  "feeling"  Gwendolen  spoke  of  w4th  an  air  of  tragedy 
was  not  to  be  explained  by  the  mere  fact  that  she  w^as  going 
to  be  a  governess:  she  was  possessed  by  a  spirit  of  general 
disappointment.  It  was  not  simply  that  she  had  a  distaste  for 
what  she  was  called  on  to  do :  the  distaste  spread  itself  over 


284  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

the  world  outside  her  penitentiary,  since  she  saw  nothing  very- 
pleasant  in  it  that  seemed  attainable  by  her  even  if  she  were 
free.  Naturally  her  grievances  did  not  seem  to  her  smaller 
than  some  of  her  male  contemporaries  held  theirs  to  be  when 
they  felt  a  profession  too  narrow  for  their  powers,  and  had  an 
a  priori  conviction  that  it  was  not  worth  while  to  put  forth 
their  latent  abilities.  Because  her  education  had  been  less 
expensive  than  theirs,  it  did  not  follow  that  she  should  have 
wider  emotions  or  a  keener  intellectual  vision.  Her  griefs 
were  feminine ;  but  to  her  as  a  woman  they  were  not  the  less 
hard  to  bear,  and  she  felt  an  equal  right  to  the  Promethean 
tone. 

But  the  movement  of  mind  which  led  her  to  keep  the  neck- 
lace, to  fold  it  up  in  the  handkerchief,  and  rise  to  put  it  in  her 
necessaire,  where  she  had  first  placed  it  when  it  had  been  re- 
turned to  her,  was  more  peculiar,  and  what  would  be  called  less 
reasonable.  It  came  from  that  streak  of  superstition  in  her 
which  attached  itself  both  to  her  confidence  and  her  terror — 
a  superstition  which  lingers  in  an  intense  personality  even  in 
spite  of  theory  and  science ;  any  dread  or  hope  for  self  being 
stronger  than  all  reasons  for  or  against  it.  Why  she  should 
suddenly  determine  not  to  part  with  the  necklace  was  not 
much  clearer  to  her  than  why  she  should  sometimes  have  been 
frightened  to  find  herself  in  the  fields  alone.  She  had  a  con- 
fused state  of  emotion  about  Deronda — was  it  wounded  pride 
and  resentment,  or  a  certain  awe  and  exceptional  trust?  It 
was  something  vague  and  yet  mastering  which  impelled  her  to 
this  action  about  the  necklace.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  un- 
mapped country  within  us  which  would  have  to  be  taken  into 
account  in  an  explanation  of  our  gusts  and  storms. 


BOOK    III, MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  285 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

*'  How  trace  the  why  and  wherefore  in  a  mind  reduced  to  the  barrenness 
of  a  fastidious  egoism,  in  which  all  direct  desires  are  dulled,  and  have 
dwindled  from  motives  into  a  vacillating  expectation  of  motives :  a  mind 
made  up  of  moods,  where  a  fitful  impulse  springs  here  and  there  conspic- 
uously rank  amidst  the  general  weediness  ?  'Tis  a  condition  apt  to  befall 
a  life  too  much  at  large,  unmolded  by  the  pressure  of  obligation.  Nam 
deteriores  omnes  sumtcs  licentice^  saith  Terence ;  or,  as  a  more  familiar 
tongue  might  deliver  it,  '•As  you  like '  is  a  had  finger-postP 

Potentates  make  known  their  intentions  and  affect  the 
funds  at  a  small  expense  of  vsrords.  So,  when  Grandcoiirt,  after 
learning  that  Gwendolen  had  left  Leubronn,  incidentally  pro- 
nounced that  resort  of  fashion  a  beastly  hole,  worse  than  Baden, 
the  remark  was  conclusive  to  Mr.  Lush  that  his  patron  intend- 
ed straightway  to  return  to  Diplow.  The  execution  was  sure 
to  be  slower  than  the  intention,  and,  in  fact,  Grandcourt  did 
loiter  through"  the  next  day  without  giving  any  distinct  orders 
about  departure — perhaps  because  he  discerned  that  Lush  was 
expecting  them.  He  lingered  over  his  toilet,  and  certainly 
came  down  with  a  faded  aspect  of  perfect  distinction  which 
made  fresh  complexions,  and  hands  with  the  blood  in  them, 
seem  signs  of  raw  vulgarity ;  he  lingered  on  the  terrace,  in  the 
gambling  -  rooms,  in  the  reading  -  room,  occupying  himself  in 
being  indifferent  to  every  body  and  every  thing  around  him. 
When  he  met  Lady  Mallinger,  however,  he  took  some  trouble 
— raised  his  hat,  paused,  and  proved  that  he  listened  to  her 
recommendation  of  the  waters  by  replying,  "Yes;  I  heard 
somebody  say  how  providential  it  was  that  there  always  hap- 
pened to  be  springs  at  gambling-places." 

"  Oh,  that  was  a  joke,"  said  innocent  Lady  Mallinger,  misled 
by  Grandcourt's  languid  seriousness,  "in  imitation  of  the  old 
one  about  the  towns  and  the  rivers,  you  knoAv." 

"  Ah,  perhaps,"  said  Grandcourt,  without  change  of  expres- 
sion. Lady  Mallinger  thought  this  worth  telling  to  Sir  Hugo, 
who  said,  "  Oh,  my  dear,  he  is  not  a  fool.     You  must  not  sup- 


286  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

pose  that  he  can't  see  a  joke.  He  can  play  his  cards  as  well 
as  most  of  us." 

"He  has  never  seemed  to  me  a  very  sensible  man,"  said 
Lady  Mallinger,  in  excuse  of  herself.  She  had  a  secret  objec- 
tion to  meeting  Grandcourt,  who  was  little  else  to  her  than  a 
large  living  sign  of  what  she  felt  to  be  her  failure  as  a  wife — 
the  not  having  presented  Sir  Hugo  with  a  son.  Her  constant 
reflection  was  that  her  husband  might  fairly  regret  his  choice, 
and  if  he  had  not  been  very  good  might  have  treated  her  with 
some  roughness  in  consequence,  gentlemen  naturally  disliking 
to  be  disappointed. 

Deronda,  too,  had  a  recognition  from  Grandcourt,  for  which 
he  was  not  grateful,  though  he  took  care  to  return  it  with  per- 
fect civility.  No  reasoning  as  to  the  foundations  of  custom 
could  do  away  with  the  early-rooted  feeling  that  his  birth  had 
been  attended  with  injury  for  which  his  father  was  to  blame ; 
and  seeing  that  but  for  this  injury  Grandcourt's  prospect  might 
have  been  his,  he  was  proudly  resolute  not  to  behave  in  any 
way  that  might  be  interpreted  into  irritation  on  that  score. 
He  saw  a  very  easy  descent  into  mean,  unreasoning  rancor  and 
triumph  in  others'  frustration ;  and  being  determined  not  to  go 
down  that  ugly  pit,  he  turned  his  back  on  it,  clinging  to  the 
kindlier  affections  within  him  as  a  possession.  Pride  certainly 
helped  him  well — the  pride  of  not  recognizing  a  disadvantage 
for  one's  self  which  vulgar  minds  are  disposed  to  exaggerate, 
such  as  the  shabby  equipage  of  poverty :  he  would  not  have  a 
man  like  Grandcourt  suppose  himself  envied  by  him.  But 
there  is  no  guarding  against  interpretation.  Grandcourt  did 
believe  that  Deronda,  poor  devil,  who,  he  had  no  doubt,  was  his 
cousin  by  the  father's  side,  inwardly  winced  under  their  mutual 
position ;  wherefore  the  presence  of  that  less  lucky  person  was 
more  agreeable  to  him  than  it  would  otherwise  have  been.  An 
imaginary  envy,  the  idea  that  others  feel  their  comparative  de- 
ficiency, is  the  ordinary  cortege  of  egoism ;  and  his  pet  dogs 
were  not  the  only  beings  that  Grandcourt  liked  to  feel  his  power 
over  in  making  thenT  jealous.  Hence  he  was  civil  enough  to 
exchange  several  words  with  Deronda  on  the  terrace  about  the 
hunting  round  Diplow,  and  even  said, "  You  had  better  com« 
over  for  a  run  or  two  when  the  season  begins." 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  287 

Lush,  not  displeased  with  delay,  amused  himself  very  well, 
partly  in  gossiping  with  Sir  Hugo,  and  in  answering  his  ques- 
tions about  Grandcourt's  affairs  so  far  as  they  might  affect  his 
willingness  to  part  with  his  interest  in  Diplow.  Also  about 
Grandcourt's  personal  entanglements,  the  baronet  knew  enough 
already  for  Lush  to  feel  released  from  silence  on  a  sunny 
autumn  day,  when  there  was  nothing  more  agreeable  to  do  in 
lounging  promenades  than  to  speak  freely  of  a  tyrannous  pa- 
tron behind  his  back.  Sir  Hugo  willingly  inclined  his  ear  to 
a  little  good-humored  scandal,  which  he  was  fond  of  calling 
traits  de  moeurs ;  but  he  was  strict  in  keeping  such  commu- 
nications from  hearers  who  might  take  them  too  seriously. 
AVhatever  knowledge  he  had  of  his  nephew's  secrets,  he  had 
never  spoken  of  it  to  Deronda,  who  considered  Grandcourt  a 
pale-blooded  mortal,  but  was  far*  from  wishing  to  hear  how  the 
red  corpuscles  had  been  washed  out  of  him.  It  was  Lush's 
policy  and  inclination  to  gratify  every  body  when  he  had  no 
reason  to  the  contrary ;  and  the  baronet  always  treated  him 
well,  as  one  of  those  easy  -  handled  personages  who,  frequent- 
ing  the  society  of  gentlemen,  without  being  exactly  gentlemen 
themselves,  can  be  the  more  serviceable,  like  the  second-best 
articles  of  our  wardrobe,  which  we  use  with  a  comfortable  free- 
dom from  anxiety. 

"  Well,  you  will  let  me  know  the  turn  of  events,"  said  Sir 
Hugo,  "  if  this  marriage  seems  likely  to  come  off  after  all,  or  if 
any  thing  else  happens  to  make  the  want  of  money  more  press- 
ing. My  plan  would  be  much  better  for  him  than  burdening 
Ry  elands." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Lush,  "  only  it  must  not  be  urged  on 
him — just  placed  in  his  way,  that  the  scent  may  tickle  him. 
Grandcourt  is  not  a  man  to  be  always  led  by  what  makes  for 
his  own  interest ;  especially  if  you  let  him  see  that  it  makes 
for  your  interest  too.  I'm  attached  to  him,  of  course.  I've 
given  up  every  thing  else  for  the  sake  of  keeping  by  him,  and 
it  has  lasted  a  good  fifteen  years  now.  He  would  not  easily 
get  any  one  else  to  fill  my  place.  He's  a  peculiar  character,  is 
Henleigh  Grandcourt,  and  it  has  been  growing  on  him  of  late 
years.  However,  I'm  of  a  constant  disposition,  and  I've  been 
a  sort  of  guardian  to  him  since  he  was  twenty.     An  uncom- 


288  DANIEL  deronda; 

monly  fascinating  fellow  lie  was  then,  to  be  sure — and  could 
be  now,  if  he  liked.  I'm  attached  to  him ;  and  it  would  be  a 
good  deal  worse  for  him  if  he  missed  me  at  his  elbow." 

Sir  Hugo  did  not  think  it  needful  to  express  his  sympathy 
or  even  assent,  and  perhaps  Lush  himself  did  not  expect  this 
sketch  of  his  motives  to  be  taken  as  exact.  But  how  can  a 
man  avoid  himself  as  a  subject  in  conversation  ?  And  he  must 
make  some  sort  of  decent  toilet  in  words,  as  in  cloth  and  linen. 
Lush's  listener  was  not  severe :  a  member  of  Parliament  could 
allow  for  the  necessities  of  verbal  toilet ;  and  the  dialogue  went 
on  without  any  change  of  mutual  estimate. 

However,  Lush's  easy  prospect  of  indefinite  procrastination 
was  cut  ofiE  the  next  morning  by  Grandcourt's  saluting  him 
with  the  question, 

"Are  you  making  all  the  arrangements  for  our  starting  by 
the  Paris  train  ?" 

"  I  didn't  know  you  meant  to  start,"  said  Lush,  not  exactly 
taken  by  surprise. 

"  You  might  have  known,"  said  Grandcourt,  looking  at  the 
burned  length  of  his  cigar,  and  speaking  in  that  lowered  tone 
which  was  usual  with  him  when  he  meant  to  express  disgust 
and  be  peremptory.  "  Just  see  to  every  thing,  will  you  ?  And 
mind  no  brute  gets  into  the  same  carriage  with  us.  And  leave 
my  P.  P.  C.  at  the  Mallingers'." 

In  consequence,  they  were  at  Paris  the  next  day ;  but  here 
Lush  was  gratified  by  the  proposal  or  command  that  he  should 
go  straight  on  to  Diplow  and  see  that  every  thing  was  right, 
while  Grandcourt  and  the  valet  remained  behind ;  and  it  was 
not  until  several  days  later  that  Lush  received  the  telegram  or- 
dering the  carriage  to  the  Wancester  station. 

He  had  used  the  interim  actively,  not  only  in  carrying  out 
Grandcourt's  orders  about  the  stud  and  household,  but  in  learn- 
ing all  he  could  of  Gwendolen,  and  how  things  were  going  on 
at  Offendene.  What  was  the  probable  effect  that  the  news  of 
the  family  misfortunes  would  have  on  Grandcourt's  fitful  ob- 
stinacy he  felt  to  be  quite  incalculable.  So  far  as  the  girl's 
poverty  might  be  an  argument  that  she  would  accept  an  offer 
from  him  now  in  spite  of  any  previous  coyness,  it  might  re- 
move that  bitter  objection  to  risk  a  repulse  which  Lush  divined 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  289 

to  be  one  of  Grandcoiirt's  deterring  motives;  on  the  other 
hand,  the  certainty  of  acceptance  was  just  "the  sort  of  thing" 
to  make  him  lapse  hither  and  thither  with  no  more  apparent 
^Yill  than  a  moth.  Lush  had  had  his  patron  under  close  ob- 
servation for  many  years,  and  knew  him,  perhaps,  better  than 
he  knew  any  other  subject ;  but  to  know  Grandcourt  was  to 
doubt  what  he  would  do  in  any  particular  case.  It  might  hap- 
pen that  he  would  behave  with  an  apparent  magnanimity,  like 
the  hero  of  g,  modern  French  drama,  whose  sudden  start  into 
moral  splendor,  after  much  lying  and  meanness,  leaves  you  lit- 
tle confidence  as  to  any  part  of  his  career  that  may  follow  the 
fall  of  the  curtain.  Indeed,  what  attitude  would  have,  been 
more  honorable  for  a  final  scene  than  that  of  declining  to  seek 
an  heiress  for  her  money,  and  determining  to  marry  the  attract- 
ive girl  who  had  none  ?  But  Lush  had  some  general  certain- 
ties about  Grandcourt,  and  one  was,  that  of  all  inward  move- 
ments those  of  generosity  were  the  least  likely  to  occur  in  him. 
Of  what  use,  however,  is  a  general  certainty  that  an  insect  will 
not  walk  with  his  head  hindmost,  when  what  you  need  to  know 
is  the  play  of  inward  stimulus  that  sends  him  hither  and  thith- 
er in  a  net-work  of  possible  paths?  Thus  Lush  was  much  at 
fault  as  to  the  probable  issue  between  Grandcourt  and  Gwendo- 
len, when  what  he  desired  was  a  perfect  confidence  that  they 
would  never  be  married.  He  would  have  consented  willingly 
that  Grandcourt  should  marry  an  heiress,  or  that  he  should  mar- 
ry Mrs.  Glasher.  In  the  one  match  there  would  have  been  the 
immediate  abundance  that  prospective  heirship  could  not  sup- 
ply ;  in  the  other  there  would  have  been  the  security  of  the 
wife's  gratitude,  for  Lush  had  always  been  Mrs.  Glasher's 
friend ;  and  that  the  future  Mrs.  Grandcourt  should  not  be  so- 
cially received  could  not  affect  his  private  comfort.  He  would 
not  have  minded,  either,  that  there  should  be  no  marriage  in 
question  at  all ;  but  he  felt  himself  justified  in  doing  his  ut- 
most to  hinder  a  marriage  with  a  girl  who  was  likely  to  bring 
nothing  but  trouble  to  her  husband — not  to  speak  of  annoy- 
ance, if  not  iiltimate  injury  to  her  husband's  old  companion, 
whose  future  Mr.  Lush  earnestly  wished  to  make  as  easy  as 
possible,  considering  that  he  had  well  deserved  such  compensa- 
tion for  leading  a  dog's  life,  though  that  of  a  dog  who  enjoyed 
Vol.  L— 13 


290  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

many  tastes  undisturbed,  and  wlio  profited  by  a  large  establish- 
ment. He  wished  for  himself  what  he  felt  to  be  good,  and 
was  not  conscious  of  wishing  harm  to  any  one  else;  unless, 
perhaps,  it  were  just  now  a  little  harm  to  the  inconvenient  and 
impertinent  Gwendolen.  But  the  easiest-humored  amateur  of 
luxury  and  music,  the  toad-eater  the  least  liable  to  nausea,  must 
be  expected  to  have  his  susceptibilities.  And  Mr.  Lush  was  ac- 
customed to  be  treated  by  the  world  in  general  as  an  apt,  agree- 
able fellow :  he  had  not  made  up  his  mind  to  be  insulted  by 
more  than  one  person. 

With  this  imperfect  preparation  of  a  war  policy,  Lush  was 
awaiting  Grandcourt's  arrival,  doing  little  more  than  wondering 
how  the  campaign  would  begin.  The  first  day  Grandcourt  was 
much  occupied  with  the  stables,  and,  among  other  things,  he 
ordered  a  groom  to  put  a  side-saddle  on  Criterion  and  let  him 
review  the  horse's  paces.  This  marked  indication  of  purpose 
set  Lush  on  considering  over  again  whether  he  should  incur  the 
ticklish  consequences  of  speaking  first,  while  he  was  still  sure 
that  no  compromising  step  had  been  taken ;  and  he  rose  the 
next  morning  almost  resolved  that  if  Grandcourt  seemed  in  as 
good  a  humor  as  yesterday  and  entered  at  all  into  talk,  he 
would  let  drop  the  interesting  facts  about  Gwendolen  and  her 
family,  just  to  see  how  they  would  work,  and  to  get  some 
guidance.  But  Grandcourt  did  not  enter  into  talk,  and  in  an- 
swer to  a  question  even  about  his  own  convenience  no  fish 
could  have  maintained  a  more  unwinking  silence.  After  he 
had  read  his  letters,  he  gave  various  orders  to  be  executed  or 
transmitted  by  Lush,  and  then  thrust  his  shoulders  toward  that 
useful  person,  who  accordingly  rose  to  leave  the  room.  But 
before  he  was  out  of  the  door,  Grandcourt  turned  his  head 
slightly,  and  gave  a  broken,  languid  "  Oh." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  said  Lush,  who,  it  must  have  been  observ^ed, 
did  not  take  his  dusty  puddings  with  a  respectful  air. 

"  Shut  the  door,  will  you  ?     I  can't  speak  into  the  corridor." 

Lush  closed  the  door,  came  forward,  and  chose  to  sit  down. 

After  a  little  pause  Grandcourt  said,  "  Is  Miss  Harleth  at  Of- 
fendene?"  He  was  quite  certain  that  Lush  had  made  it  his 
business  to  inquire  about  her,  and  had  some  pleasure  in  think- 
ing that  Lush  did  not  want  him  to  inquire. 


BOOK  III. MAIDENS  CHOOSING.  291 

"  Well,  I  hardly  know,"  said  Lush,  carelessly.  "  The  family's 
utterly  done  up.  They  and  the  Gascoignes  too  have  lost  all 
their  money.  It's  owing  to  some  rascally  banking  business. 
The  poor  mother  hasn't  a  sou,  it  seems.  She  and  the  girls 
have  to  huddle  themselves  into  a  little  cottage  like  a  laborer's." 

"Don't  lie  to  me,  if  you  please,"  said  Grandcourt,  in  his 
lowest  audible  tone.  "  It's  not  amusing,  and  it  answers  no 
other  purpose." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Lush,  more  nettled  than  was 
common  with  him — the  prospect  before  him  being  more  than 
commonly  disturbing. 

"  Just  tell  me  the  truth,  will  you  ?" 

"  It's  no  invention  of  mine.  I  have  heard  the  story  from 
several — Bazely,  Brackenshaw's  nian,  for  one.  He  is  getting  a 
new  tenant  for  Offendene," 

"  I  don't  mean  that.  Is  Miss  Harleth  there,  or  is  she  not  ?" 
said  Grandcourt,  in  his  former  tone. 

"  Upon  my  soul,  I  can't  tell,"  said  Lush,  rather  sulkily. 
"  She  may  have  left  yesterday.  I  heard  she  had  taken  a  situ- 
ation as  governess ;  she  may  be  gone  to  it,  for  what  I  know. 
But  if  you  wanted  to  see  her,  no  doubt  the  mother  would  send 
for  her  back."  This  sneer  slipped  ofE  his  tongue  without  strict 
intention. 

"Send  Hutchins  to  inquire  whether  she  will  be  there  to- 
morrow." 

Lush  did  not  move.  Like  many  persons  who  have  thought 
over  beforehand  what  they  shall  say  in  given  cases,  he  was  im- 
pelled by  an  unexpected  irritation  to  say  some  of  those  pre- 
arranged things  before  the  cases  were  given.  Grandcourt,  in 
fact,  was  likely  to  get  into  a  scrape  so  tremendous,  that  it  was 
impossible  to  let  him  take  the  first  step  toward  it  without  re- 
monstrance. Lush  retained  enough  caution  to  use  a  tone  of 
rational  friendliness ;  still  he  felt  his  own  value  to  his  patron, 
and  was  prepared  to  be  daring. 

"  It  would  be  as  well  for  you  to  remember,  Grandcourt,  that 
you  are  coming  under  closer  fire  now.  -  There  can  be  none  of 
the  ordinary  flirting  done,  which  may  mean  every  thing  or 
nothing.  You  must  make  up  your  mind  whether  you  wish  to 
be  accepted ;  and,  more  than  that,  how  you  would  like  being 


292  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

refused.  Either  one  or  the  other.  You  can't  be  philandering 
after  her  again  for  six  weeks." 

Grandcourt  said  nothing,  but  pressed  the  newspaper  down 
on  his  knees  and  began  to  light  another  cigar.  Lush  took  this 
as  a  sign  that  he  was  willing  to  listen,  and  was  the  more  bent 
on  using  the  opportunity ;  he  wanted,  if  possible,  to  find  out 
which  would  be  the  more  potent  cause  of  hesitation — probable 
acceptance  or  probable  refusal. 

"Every  thing  has  a  more  serious  look  now  than  it  had  be- 
fore. There  is  her  family  to  be  provided  for.  You  could  not 
let  your  wife's  mother  live  in  beggary.  It  will  be  a  confound- 
edly hampering  affair.  Marriage  will  pin  you  down  in  a  way 
you  haven't  been  used  to ;  and  in  point  of  money  you  have 
not  too  much  elbow-room.  And,  after  all,  what  will  you  get  by 
it  ?  You  are  master  over  your  estates,  present  or  future,  as  far 
as  choosing  your  heir  goes ;  it's  a  pity  to  go  on  encumbering 
them  for  a  mere  whim,  which  you  may  repent  of  in  a  twelve- 
month. I  should  be  sorry  to  see  you  making  a  mess  of  your 
life  in  that  way.  If  there  were  any  thing  solid  to  be  gained 
by  the  marriage,  that  would  be  a  different  affair." 

Lush's  tone  had  gradually  become  more  and  more  unctuous 
in  its  friendliness  of  remonstrance,  and  he  was  almost  in  danger 
of  forgetting  that  he  was  merely  gambling  in  argument.  When 
he  left  off,  Grandcourt  took  his  cigar  out  of  his  mouth,  and, 
looking  steadily  at  the  moist  end  while  he  adjusted  the  leaf 
with  his  delicate  finger-tips,  said, 

"  I  knew  before  that  you  had  an  objection  to  my  marrying 
Miss  Harleth."  Here  he  made  a  little  pause,  before  he  contin- 
ued, "  But  I  never  considered  that  a  reason  against  it." 

"  I  never  supposed  you  did,"  answered  Lush,  not  unctuously, 
but  dryly.  "It  was  not  that  I  urged  as  a  reason.  I  should 
have  thought  it  might  have  been  a  reason  against  it,  after  all 
your  experience,  that  you  would  be  acting  like  the  hero  of  a 
ballad,  and  making  yourself  absurd — and  all  for  what?  You 
know  you  couldn't  make  up  your  mind  before.  It's  impossible 
you  can  care  much  about  her.  And  as  for  the  tricks  she  is 
likely  to  play,  you  may  judge  of  that  from  what  you  heard  at 
Leubronn.  However,  what  I  wished  to  point  out  to  you  was, 
that  there  can  be  no  shilly-shally  now." 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  293 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Grandeourt,  looking  round  at  Lush  and 
fixing  him  with  narrow  eyes;  "I  don't  intend  that  there 
should  be.  I  dare  say  it's  disagreeable  to  you.  But  if  you 
suppose  I  care  a  d — n  for  that,  you  are  most  stupendously  mis- 
taken." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Lush,  rising  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  feeling  some  latent  venom  still  within  him, "  if  you  have 
made  up  your  mind ! — only  there's  another  aspect  of  the  affair. 
I  have  been  speaking  on  the  supposition  that  it  was  absolutely 
certain  she  would  accept  you,  and  that  destitution  would  have 
no  choice.  But  I  am  not  so  sure  that  the  young  lady  is  to  be 
counted  on.  She  is  kittle  cattle  to  shoe,  I  think.  And  she 
had  her  reasons  for  running  away  before."  Lush  had  moved  a 
step  or  two  till  he  stood  nearly  in  front  of  Grandeourt,  though 
at  some  distance  from  him.  He  did  not  feel  himself  much  re- 
strained by  consequences,  being  aware  that  the  only  strong 
hold  he  had  on  his  present  position  was  his  serviceableness ; 
and  even  after  a  quarrel,  the  want  of  him  was  likely,  sooner  or 
later,  to  recur.  He  foresaw  that  Gwendolen  would  cause  him 
to  be  ousted  for  a  time,  and  his  temper  at  this  moment  urged 
him  to  risk  a  quarrel. 

"  She  had  her  reasons,"  he  repeated,  more  significantly. 

"  I  had  come  to  that  conclusion  before,"  said  Grandeourt, 
with  contemptuous  irony. 

"Yes,  but  I.  hardly  think  you  know  what  her  reasons  were." 

"  You  do,  apparently,"  said  Grandeourt,  not  betraying  by  so 
much  as  an  eyelash  that  he  cared  for  the  reasons. 

"  Yes,  and  you  had  better  know  too,  that  you  may  judge  of 
the  influence  you  have  over  her,  if  she  swallows  her  reasons  and 
accepts  you.  For  my  own  part,  I  would  take  odds  against  it. 
She  saw  Lydia  in  Cardell  Chase  and  heard  the  whole  story." 

Grandeourt  made  no  immediate  answer,  and  only  went  on 
smoking.  He  was  so  long  before  he  spoke  that  Lush  moved 
about  and  looked  out  of  the  windows,  unwilling  to  go  away 
without  seeing  some  effect  of  his  daring  move.  He  had  ex- 
pected that  Grandeourt  would  tax  him  with  having  contrived 
the  affair,  since  Mrs.  Glasher  w^'is  then  living  at  Gadsmere  a 
hundred  miles  off,  and  he  was  prepared  to  admit  the  fact : 
what  he  cared  about  was  that  Grandeourt  should  be  staggered 


294  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

by  the  sense  that  his  intended  advances  must  be  made  to  a  girl 
who  had  that  knowledge  in  her  mind  and  had  been  scared  by 
it.  At  length  Grandcourt,  seeing  Lush  turn  toward  him,  look- 
ed at  him  again  and  said,  contemptuously,  "  What  follows  ?" 

Here  certainly  was  a  "mate"  in  answer  to  Lush's  "check;" 
and  though  his  exasperation  with  Grandcourt  was  perhaps 
stronger  than  it  had  ever  been  before,  it  would  have  been  mere 
idiocy  to  act  as  if  any  further  move  could  be  useful.  He  gave 
a  slight  shrug  with  one  shoulder,  and  was  going  to  walk  away, 
when  Grandcourt,  turning  on  his  seat  toward  the  table,  said,  as 
quietly  as  if  nothing  had  occurred,  "  Oblige  me  by  pushing  that 
pen  and  paper  here,  will  you  ?" 

No  thunderous,  bullying  superior  could  have  exercised  the 
imperious  spell  that  Grandcourt  did.  Why,  instead  of  being 
obeyed,  he  had  never  been  told  to  go  to  a  warmer  place,  was 
perhaps  a  mystery  to  several  who  found  themselves  obeying 
him.  The  pen  and  paper  were  pushed  to  him,  and  as  he  took 
them  he  said,  "  Just  wait  for  this  letter." 

He  scrawled  with  ease,  and  the  brief  note  was  quickly  ad- 
dressed. "  Let  Hutchins  go  with  it  at  once,  will  you  ?"  said 
Grandcourt,  pushing  the  letter  away  from  him. 

As  Lush  had  expected,  it  was  addressed  to  Miss  Harleth,  Of- 
fendene.  When  his  irritation  had  cooled  down,  he  was  glad 
there  had  been  no  explosive  quarrel;  but  he  felt  sure  that 
there  was  a  notch  made  against  him,  and  that  somehow  or  oth- 
er he  was  intended  to  pay.  It  was  also  clear  to  him  that  the 
immediate  effect  of  his^revelation  had  been  to  harden  Grand- 
court's  previous  determination.  But  as  to  the  particular  move- 
ments which  made  this  process  in  his  baffling  mind,  Lush  could 
only  toss  up  his  chin  in  despair  of  a  theory. 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  295 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"  He  brings  white  asses  laden  with  the  freight 
Of  Tyrian  vessels,  purple,  gold,  and  balm, 
To  bribe  my  will :  I'll  bid  them  chase  him  forth, 
Nor  let  him  breathe  the  taint  of  his  surmise 
On  my  secure  resolve. 

Ay,  'tis  secure ; 
And  therefore  let  him  come  to  spread  his  freight. 
For  firmness  hath  its  appetite,  and  craves 
The  stronger  lure,  more  strongly  to  resist ; 
Would  know  the  touch  of  gold,  to  fling  it  off ; 
Scent  wine,  to  feel  its  lip  the  soberer ; 
Behold  soft  byssus,  ivory,  and  plumes. 
To  say, '  They're  fair,  but  I  will  none  of  them,' 
And  flout  Enticement  in  the  very  face." 

Mr.  Gascoigne  one  day  came  to  Offcndene  with  what  he 
felt  to  be  the  satisfactory  news  that  Mrs.  Mompert  had  fixed 
Tuesday  in  the  following  week  for  her  interview  with  Gwen- 
dolen at  Wancester.  He  said  nothing  of  his  having  incidental- 
ly heard  that  Mr.  Grandcourt  had  returned  to  Diplow ;  know- 
ing no  more  than  she  did  that  Leubronn  had  been  the  goal  of 
her  admirer's  journeying,  and  feeling  that  it  would  be  unkind 
uselessly  to  revive  the  memory  of  a  brilliant  prospect  under 
the  present  reverses.  In  his  secret  soul  he  thought  of  his 
niece's  unintelligible  caprice  with  regret,  but  he  vindicated  her 
to  himself  by  considering  that  Grandcourt  had  been  the  first  to 
behave  oddly,  in  suddenly  walking  away  when  there  had  been 
the  best  opportunity  for  crowning  his  marked  attentions.  The 
rector's  practical  judgment  told  him  that  his  chief  duty  to  his 
niece  now  was  to  encourage  her  resolutely  to  face  the  change 
in  her  lot,  since  there  was  no  manifest  promise  of  any  event 
that  would  avert  it. 

"  You  will  find  an  interest  in  varied  experience,  my  dear, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  be  a  more  valuable  woman  for 
having  sustained  such  a  part  as  you  are  called  to." 


296  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  I  can  not  pretend  to  believe  that  I  shall  like  it,"  said  Gwen- 
dolen,  for  the  first  time  showing  her  uncle  some  petulance. 
"  But  I  am  quite  aware  that  I  am  obliged  to  bear  it." 

She  remembered  having  submitted  to  his  admonition  on  a 
different  occasion,  when  she  was  expected  to  like  a  very  differ- 
ent prospect. 

"  And  your  good  sense  will  teach  you  to  behave  suitably  un- 
der it,"  said  Mr.  Gascoigne,  with  a  shade  more  gravity.  "  I 
feel  sure  that  Mrs.  Mompert  will  be  pleased  with  you.  You 
will  know  how  to  conduct  yourself  to  a  woman  who  holds  in 
all  senses  the  relation  of  a  superior  to  you.  This  trouble  has 
come  on  you  young,  but  that  makes  it  in  some  respects  easier, 
and  there  is  benefit  in  all  chastisement  if  we  adjust  our  minds 
to  it." 

This  was  precisely  what  Gwendolen  was  unable  to  do ;  and 
after  her  uncle  was  gone,  the  bitter  tears,  which  had  rarely 
come  during  the  late  trouble,  rose  and  fell  slowly  as  she  sat 
alone.  Her  heart  denied  that  the  trouble  was  easier  because 
she  was  young.  When  was  she  to  have  any  happiness,  if  it 
did  not  come  while  she  was  young?  Not  that  her  visions  of 
possible  happiness  for  herself  were  as  unmixed  with  necessary 
evil  as  they  used  to  be — not  that  she  could  still  imagine  herself 
plucking  the  fruits  of  life  without  suspicion  of  their  core.  But 
this  general  disenchantment  with  the  world — nay,  with  herself, 
since  it  appeared  that  she  was  not  made  for  easy  pre-eminence 
— only  intensified  her  sense  of  forlornness:  it  was  a  visibly 
sterile  distance  inclosing  the  dreary  path  at  her  feet,  in  which 
she  had  no  courage  to  tread.  She  was  in  that  first  crisis  of 
passionate  youthful  rebellion  against  what  is  not  fitly  called 
pain,  but  rather  the  absence  of  joy — that  first  rage  of  disap- 
pointment in  life's  morning,  which  we  whom  the  years  have 
subdued  are  apt  to  remember  but  dimly  as  part  of  our  own 
experience,  and  so  to  be  intolerant  of  its  self-inclosed  unreason- 
ableness and  impiety.  AVhat  passion  seems  more  absurd,  when 
we  have  got  outside  it  and  looked  at  calamity  as  a  collective 
risk,  than  this  amazed  anguish  that  I,  and  not  Thou,  He,  or  She, 
should  be  just  the  smitten  one?  Yet  perhaps  some  who  have 
afterward  made  themselves  a  willing  fence  before  the  breast  of 
another,  and  have  carried  their  own  heart-wound  in  heroic  si- 


BOOK    III. MAIDEXS    CHOOSING.  297 

lence — some  who  have  made  their  latter  deeds  great,  neverthe- 
less began  with  this  angry  amazement  at  their  own  smart,  and 
on  the  mere  denial  of  their  fantastic  desires  raged  as  if  under 
the  sting  of  w^asps,  which  reduced  the  universe  for  them  to  an 
unjust  infliction  of  pain.  This  was  nearly  poor  Gwendolen's 
condition.  What  though  such  a  reverse  as  hers  had  often  hap- 
pened to  other  girls  ?  The  one  point  she  had  been  all  her  life 
learning  to  care  for  was,  that  it  had  happened  to  Aer ;  it  was 
what  she  felt  under  Klesmer's  demonstration  that  she  was  not 
remarkable  enough  to  command  fortune  by  force  of  will  and 
merit ;  it  was  what  she  would  feel  under  the  rigors  of  Mrs. 
Mompert's  constant  expectation,  under  the  dull  demand  that 
she  should  be  cheerful  with  three  Miss  Momperts,  under  the 
necessity  of  showing  herself  entirely  submissive,  and  keeping 
her  thoughts  to  herself.  To  be  a  queen  disthroned  is  not  so 
hard  as  some  other  down-stepping.  Imagine  one  who  had  been 
made  to  believe  in  his  own  divinity  finding  all  homage  w^ith- 
drawn,  and  himself  unable  to  perform  a  miracle  that  would  re- 
call the  homage  and  restore  his  own  confidence.  Something 
akin  to  this  illusion  and  this  helplessness  had  befallen  the  poor 
spoiled  child  with  the  lovely  lips  and  eyes  and  the  majestic 
fio-ure,  which  seemed  now  to  have  no  mao;ic  in  them. 

She  rose  from  the  low  ottoman  where  she  had  been  sitting 
purposeless,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  drawing-room,  resting 
her  elbow  on  one  palm  while  she  leaned  down  her  cheek  on  the 
other,  and  a  slow  tear  fell.  She  thought,  "  I  have  always,  ever 
since  I  was  little,  felt  that  mamma  was  not  a  happy  woman ; 
and  now  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  more  unhappy  than  she  has 
been."  Her  mind  dwelt  for  a  few  moments  on  the  picture  of 
herself  losing  her  youth  and  ceasing  to  enjoy  —  not  minding 
whether  she  did  this  or  that;  but  such  picturing  inevitably 
brouo-ht  back  the  imaaje  of  her  mother.  "  Poor  mamma !  it 
will  be  still  worse  for  her  now.  I  can  get  a  little  money  for 
her — that  is  all  I  shall  care  about  now."  And  then,  with  an 
entirely  new  movement  of  her  imagination,  she  saw  her  mother 
getting  quite  old  and  white,  and  herself  no  longer  young,  but 
faded,  and  their  two  faces  meeting  still  with  memory  and 
love,  and  she  knowing  what  was  in  her  mother's  mind  — 
"Poor  Gwen  too  is  sad  and  faded  now"  —  and  then  for  the 

13* 


298  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

first  time  she  sobbed,  not  in  anger,  but  witb  a  sort  of  tender 
misery. 

Her  face  was  toward  the  door,  and  she  saw  her  mother  enter. 
She  barely  saw  that;  for  her  eyes  were  large  with  tears,  and 
she  pressed  her  handkerchief  against  them  hurriedly.  Before 
she  took  it  away  she  felt  her  mother's  arms  round  her,  and  this 
sensation,  which  seemed  a  prolongation  of  her  inward  vision, 
overcame  her  will  to  be  reticent :  she  sobbed  aneW  in  spite  of 
herself,  as  they  pressed  their  cheeks  together. 

Mrs.  Davilow  had  brought  something  in  her  hand  which 
had  already  caused  her  an  agitating  anxiety,  and  she  dared 
not  speak  until  her  darling  had  become  calmer.  But  Gwen- 
dolen, with  whom  weeping  had  always  been  a  painful  mani- 
festation, to  be  resisted  if  possible,  again  pressed  her  handker- 
chief against  her  eyes,  and  with  a  deep  breath  drew  her  head 
backward  and  looked  at  her  mother,  who  was  pale  and  trem- 
ulous. 

"  It  was  nothing,  mamma,"  said  Gwendolen,  thinking  that 
her  mother  had  been  moved  in  this  way  simply  by  finding  her 
in  distress.     "  It  is  all  over  now." 

But  Mrs.  Davilow  had  withdrawn  her  arms,  and  Gwendolen 
perceived  a  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  What  is  that  letter  ? — worse  news  still  ?"  she  asked,  with  a 
touch  of  bitterness. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  will  think  it,  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Davilow,  keeping  the  letter  in  her  hand.  "  You  will  hardly 
guess  where  it  comes  from." 

"  Don't  ask  me  to  guess  any  thing,"  said  Gwendolen,  rather 
impatiently,  as  if  a  bruise  were  being  pressed. 

"  It  is  addressed  to  you,  dear." 

Gwendolen  gave  the  slightest  perceptible  toss  of  the  head. 

"  It  comes  from  Diplow,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  giving  her  the 
letter. 

She  knew  Grandcourt's  indistinct  handwriting,  and  her  moth- 
er was  not  surprised  to  see  her  blush  deeply ;  but,  watching 
her  as  she  read,  and  wondering  much  what  was  the  purport  of 
the  letter,  she  saw  the  color  die  out.  Gwendolen's  lips  even 
were  pale  as  she  turned  the  open  note  toward  her  mother.  The 
words  were  few  and  formal. 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  299 

"  Mr.  Grandcourt  presents  his  compliments  to  Miss  Harleth, 
and  begs  to  know  whether  he  may  be  permitted  to  call  at  Of- 
fendene  to-morrow  after  two,  and  to  see  her  alone.  Mr.  Grand- 
court  has  just  returned  from  Leubronn,  where  he  had  hoped  to 
find  Miss  Harleth." 

Mrs.  Davilow  read,  and  then  looked  at  her  daughter  inquir- 
ingly, leaving  the  note  in  her  hand.  Gwendolen  let  it  fall  on 
the  floor,  and  turned  away. 

"  It  must  be  answered,  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  timidly. 
"  The  man  waits." 

Gwendolen  sunk  on  the  settee,  clasped  her  hands,  and  looked 
straight  before  her,  not  at  her  mother.  She  had  the  expression 
of  one  who  had  been  startled  by  a  sound  and  was  listening  to 
know  what  would  come  of  it.  The  sudden  change  of  the  sit- 
uation was  bewildering.  A  few  minutes  before  she  was  look- 
ing along  an  inescapable  path  of  repulsive  monotony,  with 
hopeless  inward  rebellion  against  the  imperious  lot  which  left 
her  no  choice ;  and,  lo !  now  a  moment  of  choice  was  come. 
Yet — was  it  triumph  she  felt  most,  or  terror  ?  Impossible  for 
Gwendolen  not  to  feel  some  triumph  in  a  tribute  to  her  power 
at  a  time  when  she  was  first  tasting  the  bitterness  of  insignifi- 
cance :  again  she  seemed  to  be  getting  a  sort  of  empire  over 
her  own  life.  But  how  to  use  it?  Here  came  the  terror. 
Quick,  quick,  like  pictures  in  a  book  beaten  open  with  a  sense 
of  hurry,  came  back  vividly,  yet  in  fragments,  all  that  she  had 
gone  through  in  relation  to  Grandcourt — the  allurements,  the 
vacillations,  the  resolve  to  accede,  the  final  repulsion  ;  the  inci- 
sive face  of  the  dark-eyed  lady  with  the  lovely  boy ;  her  own 
pledge  (was  it  a  pledge  not  to  marry  him  ?) ;  the  new  disbelief 
in  the  worth  of  men  and  things  for  which  that  scene  of  dis- 
closure had  become  a  symbol.  That  unalterable  experience 
made  a  vision,  at  which  in  the  first  agitated  moment,  before  tem- 
pering reflections  could  suggest  themselves,  her  native  terror 
shrunk. 

Where  was  the  good  of  choice  coming  again?  What  did 
she  wish?  Any  thing  different?  No!  and  yet  in  the  dark 
seed-growths  of  consciousness  a  new  wish  was  forming  itself — 
"  I  wish  I  had  never  known  it !"      Something,  any  thing  she 


300  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

wished  for,  that  would  have  saved  her  from  the  dread  to  let 
Grandcourt  come. 

It  was  no  long  while — yet  it  seemed  long  to  Mrs.  Davilow 
before  she  thought  it  well  to  say,  gently, 

"  It  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  write,  dear.  Or  shall  I  write 
an  answer  for  you — which  you  will  dictate  ?" 

"No,  mamma,"  said  Gwendolen,  drawing  a  deep  breath. 
"  But  please  lay  me  out  the  pen  and  paper." 

That  was  gaining  time.  Was  she  to  decline  Grandcourt's 
visit — close  the  shutters — not  even  look  out  on  what  would 
happen? — though  with  the  assurance  that  she  should  remain 
just  where  she  was  ?  The  young  activity  within  her  made  a 
warm  current  through  her  terror  and  stirred  toward  something 
that  would  be  an  event — toward  an  opportunity  in  which  she 
could  look  and  speak  with  the  former  effectiveness.  The.  in- 
terest of  the  morrow  was  no  longer  at  a  dead-lock. 

"  There  is  really  no  reason  on  earth  why  you  should  be  so 
alarmed  at  the  man's  waiting  a  few  minutes,  mamma,"  said 
Gwendolen,  remonstrantly,  as  Mrs.  Davilow,  having  prepared 
the  writing  materials,  looked  toward  her  expectantly.  "  Serv^- 
ants  expect  nothing  else  than  to  wait.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  I  must  write  on  the  instant." 

"  No,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  in  the  tone  of  one  corrected, 
turning  to  sit  down  and  take  up  a  bit  of  work  that  lay  at  hand. 
"  He  can  wait  another  quarter  of  an  hour,  if  you  like." 

It  was  very  simple  speech  and  action  on  her  part,  but  it  was 
what  might  have  been  subtly  calculated.  Gwendolen  felt  a 
contradictory  desire  to  be  hastened :  hurry  would  save  her  from 
deliberate  choice. 

"  I  did  not  mean  him  to  wait  long  enough  for  that  needle- 
work to  be  finished,"  she  said,  lifting  her  hands  to  stroke  the 
backward  curves  of  her  hair,  while  she  rose  from  her  seat  and 
stood  still. 

"  But  if  you  don't  feel  able  to  decide  ?"  said  Mrs.  Davilow, 
sympathizingly. 

"  I  must  decide,"  said  Gwendolen,  walking  to  the  writing- 
table  and  seating  herself.  All  the  while  there  was  a  busy  un- 
der-current in  her,  like  the  thought  of  a  man  who  keeps  up  a 
dialogue  while  ]ie  is  considering  how  he  can  slip  away.     Why 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  301 

should  she  not  let  him  come  ?  It  bound  her  to  nothing.  He 
had  been  to  Leubronn  after  her:  of  course  he  meant  a  direct 
unmistakable  renewal  of  the  suit  which  before  had  been  only- 
implied.  What  then  ?  She  could  reject  him.  Why  was  she 
to  deny  herself  the  freedom  of  doing  this — which  she  would 
like  to  do  ? 

"  If  Mr.  Grandcourt  has  only  just  returned  from  Leubronn," 
said  Mrs.  Davilow,  observing  that  Gwendolen  leaned  back  in 
her  chair  after  taking  the  pen  in  her  hand — "  I  wonder  wheth- 
er he  has  heard  of  our  misfortunes." 

"  That  could  make  no  difference  to  a  man  in  his  position," 
said  Gwendolen,  rather  contemptuously. 

"  It  would,  to  some  men,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow.  "  They  w^ould 
not  like  to  take  a  wife  from  a  family  in  a  state  of  beggary  al- 
most, as  we  are.  Here  we  are  at  Offendene,  with  a  great  shell 
over  us  as  usual.  But  just  imagine  his  finding  us  at  Sawyer's 
cottage !  Most  men  are  afraid  of  being  bored  or  taxed  by  a 
wife's  family.  If  Mr.  Grandcourt  did  know,  I  think  it  a  strong- 
proof  of  his  attachment  to  you." 

Mrs.  Davilow  spoke  \vith  unusual  emphasis.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  ventured  to  say  any  thing  about  Grandcourt 
which  w^ould  necessarily  seem  intended  as  an  argument  in  fa- 
vor of  him,  her  habitual  impression  being  that  such  arguments 
would  certainly  be  useless,  and  might  be  worse.  The  effect  of 
her  words  now  was  stronger  than  she  could  imagine.  They 
raised  a  new  set  of  possibilities  in  Gwendolen's  mind — a  vision 
of  what  Grandcourt  might  do  for  her  mother  if  she,  Gwendo- 
len, did — what  she  was  not  going  to  do.  She  was  so  moved 
by  a  new  rush  of  ideas,  that,  like  one  conscious  of  being  ur- 
gently called  away,  she  felt  that  the  immediate  task  must  be 
hastened :  the  letter  must  be  written,  else  it  might  be  endlessly 
deferred.  After  all,  she  acted  in  a  hurry,  as  she  had  wished  to 
do.  To  act  in  a  hurry  was  to  have  a  reason  for  keeping  away 
from  an  absolute  decision,  and  to  leave  open  as  many  issues  as 
possible. 

She  wrote :  "  Miss  Harleth  presents  her  compliments  to  Mr. 
Grandcourt.  She  will  be  at  home  after  two  o'clock  to-mor- 
row." 

Before  addressingr  the  note  she  said,  "  Prav  rinor  the  bell, 


302  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

mamma,  if  there  is  any  one  to  answer  it."  She  really  did  not 
know  who  did  the  work  of  the  house. 

It  was  not  till  after  the  letter  had  been  taken  away  and 
Gwendolen  had  risen  again,  stretching  out  one  arm  and  then 
resting  it  on  her  head,  with  a  long  moan  which  had  a  sound  of 
relief  in  it,  that  Mrs.  Davilow  ventured  to  ask, 

"What  did  you  say,  Gwen  ?" 

"  I  said  that  I  should  be  at  home,"  answered  Gwendolen, 
rather  loftily;  then,  after  a  pause,  "You  must  not  expect,  be- 
cause Mr.  Grandcourt  is  coming,  that  any  thing  is  going  to 
happen,  mamma." 

"  I  don't  allow  myself  to  expect  any  thing,  dear.  I  desire 
you  to  follow  your  own  feeling.  You  have  never  told  me  what 
that  was." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  telling  ?"  said  Gwendolen,  hearing  a 
reproach  in  that  true  statement.  "  When  I  have  any  thing 
pleasant  to  tell,  you  may  be  sure  I  will  tell  you." 

"  But  Mr.  Grandcourt  will  consider  that  you  have  already 
accepted  him  in  allowing  him  to  come.  His  note  tells  you 
plainly  enough  that  he  is  coming  to  make  you  an  offer." 

"Very  well;  and  I  wish  to  have  the  pleasure  of  refusing 
him." 

Mrs.  Davilow  looked  up  in  wonderment,  but  Gwendolen  im- 
plied her  wish  not  to  be  questioned  further  by  saying, 

"  Put  down  that  detestable  needle-work,  and  let  us  walk  in 
the  avenue.     I  am  stifled." 


CHAPTER  XXVH. 

"  Desire  has  trimmed  the  sails,  and  Circumstance 
Brings  but  the  breeze  to  fill  them." 

While  Grandcourt,  on  his  beautiful  black  Yarico,  the  groom 
behind  him  on  Criterion,  was  taking  the  pleasant  ride  from 
Diplow  to  Offendene,  Gwendolen  was  seated  before  the  mirror 
while  her  mother  gathered  up  the  lengthy  mass  of  light-brown 
hair  which  she  had  been  carefully  brushing. 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  303 

"  Only  gather  it  up  easily  and  make  a  coil,  mamma,"  said 
Gwendolen. 

"  Let  me  bring  you  some  ear-rings,  Gwen,"  said  Mrs.  Davi- 
low,  when  the  hair  was  adjusted,  and  they  were  both  looking 
at  the  reflection  in  the  glass.  It  was  impossible  for  them  not 
to  notice  that  the  eyes  looked  brighter  than  they  had  done  of 
late,  that  there  seemed  to  be  a  shadow  lifted  from  the  face, 
leaving  all  the  lines  once  more  in  their  placid  youthfulness. 
The  mother  drew  some  inferences  that  made  her  voice  rather 
cheerful.     "  You  do  want  your  ear-rings  ?" 

.  "  No,  mamma ;  I  shall  not  wear  any  ornaments,  and  I  shall 
put  on  my  black  silk.  Black  is  the  only  wear  when  one  is  go- 
ing to  refuse  an  offer,"  said  Gwendolen,  with  one  of  her  old 
smiles  at  her  mother,  while  she  rose  to  throw  off  her  dressing- 
gown. 

"  Suppose  the  offer  is  not  made,  after  all,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow, 
not  without  a  sly  intention. 

"Then  that  will  be  because  I  refuse  it  beforehand,"  said 
Gwendolen.     "  It  comes  to  the  same  thing." 

There  was  a  proud  little  toss  of  her  head  as  she  said  this ; 
and  when  she  walked  down-stairs  in  her  long  black  robes,  there 
was  just  that  firm  poise  of  head  and  elasticity  of  form  which 
had  lately  been  missing,  as  in  a  parched  plant.  Her  mother 
thought, "  She  is  quite  herself  again.  It  must  be  pleasure  in 
his  coming.      Can  her  mind  be  really  made  up  against  him  ?" 

Gwendolen  would  have  been  rather  angry  if  that  thought 
had  been  uttered ;  perhaps  all  the  more  because  through  the 
last  twenty  hours,  with  a  brief  interruption  of  sleep,  she  had 
been  so  occupied  with  perpetually  alternating  images  and  ar- 
guments for  and  against  the  possibility  of  her  marrying  Grand- 
court,  that  the  conclusion  which  she  had  determined  on  before- 
hand ceased  to  have  any  hold  on  her  consciousness:  the  al- 
ternate dip  of  counterbalancing  thoughts  begotten  of  counter- 
balancing desires  had  brought  her  into  a  state  in  which  no  con- 
clusion could  look  fixed  to  her.  She  would  have  expressed  her 
resolve  as  before;  but  it  was  a  form  out  of  which  the  blood 
had  been  sucked — no  more  a  part  of  quivering  life  than  the 
"  God's  will  be  done  "  of  one  who  is  eagerly  watching  chances. 
She  did  not  mean  to  accept  Grandcourt ;  from  the  first  mo- 


304  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

raent  of  receiving  Lis  letter  slie  bad  meant  to  refuse  him ;  still, 
that  could  not  but  prompt  her  to  look  the  unwelcome  reasons 
full  in  the  face  until  she  had  a  little  less  awe  of  them — could 
not  hinder  her  imagination  from  filling  out  her  knowledge  in 
various  ways,  some  of  which  seemed  to  change  the  aspect  of 
what  she  knew.  By  dint  of  looking  at  a  dubious  object  with 
a  constructive  imagination,  one  can  give  it  twenty  different 
shapes.  Her  indistinct  grounds  of  hesitation  before  the  inter- 
view at  the  Whispering  Stones  at  present  counted  for  nothing ; 
they  w^ere  all  merged  in  the  final  repulsion.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  that  day  in  Cardell  Chase,  she  said  to  herself  now,  theire 
would  have  been  no  obstacle  to  her  marrying  Grandcourt.  On 
that  day  and  after  it,  she  had  not  reasoned  and  balanced :  she 
had  acted  with  a  force  of  impulse  against  which  all  questioning 
was  no  more  than  a  voice  against  a  torrent.  The  impulse  had 
come  —  not  only  from  her  maidenly  pride  and  jealousy,  not 
only  from  the  shock  of  another  woman's  calamity  thrust  close 
on  her  vision,  but — from  her  dread  of  wrong-doing,  which  was 
vague,  it  is  true,  and  aloof  from  the  daily  details  of  her  life,  but 
not  the  less  strong.  Whatever  was  accepted  as  consistent  with 
being  a  lady  she  had  no  scruple  about ;  but  from  the  dim  re- 
gion of  what  was  called  disgraceful,  wrong,  guilty,  she  shrunk 
with  mingled  pride  and  terror ;  and,  even  apart  from  shame,  her 
feeling  would  have  made  her  place  any  deliberate  injury  of  an- 
other in  the  region  of  guilt. 

But  "how — did  she  know  exactly  what  was  the  state  of  the 
case  with  regard  to  Mrs.  Glasher  and  her  children  ?  .  She  had 
given  a  sort  of  promise — had  said,  "  I  will  not  interfere  with 
your  wishes."  But  would  another  woman  who  married  Grand- 
court  be  in  fact  the  decisive  obstacle  to  her  wishes,  or  be  doing 
her  and  her  boy  any  real  injury  ?  Might  it  not  be  just  as  well, 
nay,  better,  that  Grandcourt  should  marry  ?  For  what  could  not 
a  woman  do  when  she  was  married,  if  she  knew  how  to  assert 
herself?  Here  all  was  constructive  imagination.  Gwendolen 
had  about  as  accurate  a  conception  of  marriage — that  is  to  say, 
of  the  mutual  influences,  demands,  duties  of  man  and  woman, 
in  the  state  of  matrimony — as  she  had  of  magnetic  currents 
and  the  law  of  storms. 

"  Mamma  managed  badly,"   was  her  way  of  summing  up 


BOOK  III. MAIDENS  CHOOSING.  305 

what  she  had  seen  of  her  mother's  experience:  she  herself 
would  manage  quite  differently.  And  the  trials  of  matrimony 
were  the  last  theme  into  which  Mrs.  Davilow  could  choose  to 
enter  fully  with  this  daughter. 

"  I  wonder  what  mamma  and  my  uncle  w'ould  say  if  they 
knew  about  Mrs.  Glasher !"  thought  Gwendolen,  in  her  inward 
debating ;  not  that  she  could  imagine  herself  telling  them,  even 
if  she  had  not  felt  bound  to  silence.  "  I  wonder  what  any 
body  would  say ;  or  w^hat  they  w^ould  say  to  Mr.  Grandcourt's 
marrvins:  some  one  else  and  havinor  other  children !"  To  con- 
sider  w^hat  "  any  body  "  would  say  was  to  be  released  from  the 
difficulty  of  judging  where  every  thing  was  obscure  to  her 
when  feeling  had  ceased  to  be  decisive.  She  had  only  to  col- 
lect her  memories,  which  proved  to  her  that  "  any  body  "  re- 
garded illegitimate  children  as  more  rightfully  to  be  looked  shy 
on  and  deprived  of  social  advantages  than  illegitimate  fathers. 
The  verdict  of  "  any  body  "  seemed  to  be  that  she  had  no  rea- 
son to  concern  herself  greatly  on  behalf  of  Mrs.  Glasher  and  her 
children. 

But  there  w^as  another  way  in  which  they  had  caused  her 
concern.  "VVliat  others  might  think  could  not  do  away  with  a 
feeling  which,  in  the  first  instance,  would  hardly  be  too  strong- 
ly described  as  indignation  and  loathing  that  she  should  have 
been  expected  to  unite  herself  with  an  outworn  life,  full  of 
backward  secrets  which  must  have  been  more  keenly  felt  than 
any  association  with  her.  True,  the  question  of  love  on  her 
own  part  had  occupied  her  scarcely  at  all  in  relation  to  Grand- 
court.  The  desirability  of  marriage  for  her  had  always  seemed 
due  to  other  feelings  than  love ;  and  to  be  enamored  was  the 
part  of  the  man,  on  whom  the  advances  depended.  Gwendo- 
len had  found  no  objection  to  Grandcourt's  way  of  being  en- 
amored before  she  had  had  that  glimpse  of  his  past,  which  she 
resented  as  if  it  had  been  a  deliberate  offense  against  her.  His 
advances  to  her  were  deliberate,  and  she  felt  a  retrospective 
disgust  for  them.  Perhaps  other  men's  lives  were  of  the  same 
kind — full  of  secrets  which  made  the  ignorant  suppositions  of 
the  woman  they  wanted  to  marry  a  farce  at  which  they  were 
laughing  in  their  sleeves. 

These  feelings  of  disgust  and  indignation  had  sunk  deep ; 


306  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

and  thougli  otlier  troublous  experience  in  the  last  weeks  had 
dulled  them  from  passion  into  remembrance,  it  was  chiefly  their 
reverberating  activity  which  kept  her  firm  to  the  understand- 
ing with  herself  that  she  was  not  going  to  accept  Grandcourt. 
She  had  never  meant  to  form  a  new  determination ;  she  had 
only  been  considering  what  might  be  thought  or  said.  If  any 
thing  could  have  induced  her  to  change,  it  would  have  been  the 
prospect  of  making  all  things  easy  for  "  poor  mamma ;"  that, 
she  admitted,  was  a  temptation.  But  no!  she  was  going  to 
refuse  him.  Meanwhile,  the  thought  that  he  was  coming  to 
be  refused  was  inspiriting;  she  had  the  white  reins  in  her 
hands  again ;  there  was  a  new  current  in  her  frame,  reviving 
her  from  the  beaten-down  consciousness  in  which  she  had  been 
left  by  the  interview  with  Klesmer.  She  was  not  now  going 
to  crave  an  opinion  of  her  capabilities ;  she  was  going  to  ex- 
ercise her  power. 

Was  this  what  made  her  heart  palpitate  annoyingly  when 
she  heard  the  horse's  footsteps  on  the  gravel  ? — when  Miss  Mer- 
ry, who  had  opened  the  door  to  Grandcourt,  came  to  tell  her 
that  he  was  in  the  drawing-room?  The  hours  of  preparation 
and  the  triumph  of  the  situation  were  apparently  of  no  use : 
she  might  as  well  have  seen  Grandcourt  coming  suddenly  on 
her  in  the  midst  of  her  despondency.  While  walking  into  the 
drawing-room  she  had  to  concentrate  all  her  energy  in  that  self- 
control  which  made  her  appear  gravely  gracious  as  she  gave 
her  hand  to  him,  and  answered  his  hope  that  she  was  quite 
well  in  a  voice  as  low  and  languid  as  his  own.  A  moment 
afterward  when  they  were  both  of  them  seated  on  two  of  the 
wreath-painted  chairs — Gwendolen  upright  with  downcast  eye- 
lids, Grandcourt  about  two  yards  distant,  leaning  one  arm  over 
the  back  of  his  chair  and  looking  at  her,  while  he  held  his  hat 
in  his  left  hand — any  one  seeing  them  as  a  picture  would  have 
concluded  that  they  were  in  some  stage  of  love-making  sus- 
pense. And  certainly  the  love-making  had  begun  :  she  already 
felt  herself  being  wooed  by  this  silent  man  seated  at  an  agree- 
able distance,  with  the  subtlest  atmosphere  of  attar  of  roses  and 
an  attention  bent  wholly  on  her.  And  he  also  considered  him- 
self to  be  wooing :  he  was  not  a  man  to  suppose  that  his  pres- 
ence carried  no  consequences;  and  he  was  exactly  the  man  to 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  30Y 

feel  the  utmost  piquancy  in  a  girl  wliom  lie  liad  not  found 
quite  calculable. 

"  I  was  disappointed  not  to  find  you  at  Leubronn,"  he  be- 
gan, bis  usual  broken  drawl  having  just  a  shade  of  amorous 
languor  in  it.  "The  place  was  intolerable  without  you.  A 
mere  kennel  of  a  place.     Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"  I  can't  judge  what  it  would  be  without  myself,"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, turning  her  eyes  on  him  with  some  recovered  sense  of 
mischief.  "  With  myself  I  liked  it  well  enough  to  have  staid 
longer  if  I  could.  But  I  was  obliged  to  come  home  on  ac- 
count of  family  troubles." 

"  It  was  very  cruel  of  you  to  go  to  Leubronn,"  said  Grand- 
court,  taking  no  notice  of  the  troubles,  on  which  Gwendolen — 
she  hardly  knew  why — wished  that  there  should  be  a  clear  un- 
derstanding at  once.  "You  must  have  known  that  it  would 
spoil  every  thing;  you  knew  you  were  the  heart  and  soul  of 
every  thing  that  went  on.     Are  you  quite  reckless  about  me  ?" 

It  was  impossible  to  say  "  yes "  in  a  tone  that  would  be 
taken  seriously ;  equally  impossible  to  say  "  no ;"  but  what  else 
could  she  say  ?  In  her  diflEiculty,  she  turned  down  her  eyelids 
again  and  blushed  over  face  and  neck.  Grandcourt  saw  her  in 
a  new  phase,  and  believed  that  she  was  showing  her  inclination. 
But  he  was  determined  that  she  should  show  it  more  de- 
cidedly. 

"Perhaps  there  is  some  deeper  interest?  Some  attraction — 
some  engagement — which  it  would  have  been  only  fair  to  make 
me  aware  of  ?     Is  there  any  man  who  stands  between  us  ?" 

Inwardly  the  answer  framed  itself,  "  No ;  but  there  is  a  wom- 
an." Yet  how  could  she  utter  this?  Even  if  she  had  not 
promised  that  woman  to  be  silent,  it  would  have  been  impos- 
sible for  her  to  enter  on  the  subject  with  Grandcourt.  But 
how  could  she  arrest  this  wooing  by  beginning  to  make  a  for- 
mal speech — "  I  perceive  your  intention — it  is  most  flattering, 
etc."  A  fish  honestly  invited  to  come  and  be  eaten  has  a  clear 
course  in  declining,  but  how  if  it  finds  itself  swimming  against 
^  a  net  ?  And  apart  from  the  net-work,  would  she  have  dared  at 
once  to  say  any  thing  decisive  ?  Gwendolen  had  not  time  to 
be  clear  on  that  point.  As  it  was,  she  felt  compelled  to  silence, 
and  after  a  pause,  Grandcourt  said, 


308  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  some  one  else  is  preferred?" 

Gwendolen,  now  impatient  of  lier  own  embarrassment,  deter- 
mined to  rush  at  the  difficulty  and  free  herself.  She  raised  her 
eyes  again,  and  said,  with  something  of  her  former  clearness 
and  defiance,  "  No  " — wishing  him  to  understand,  "  What  then  ? 
I  may  not  be  ready  to  take  you^  There  was  nothing  that 
Grandcourt  could  not  understand  which  he  perceived  likely  to 
affect  his  amour  propre. 

"  The  last  thing  I  would  do  is  to  importune  you.  I  should 
not  hope  to  win  you  by  making  myself  a  bore.  If  there  were 
no  hope  for  me,  I  would  ask  you  to  tell  me  so  at  once,  that  I 
might  just  ride  away  to — no  matter  where." 

Almost  to  her  own  astonishment,  Gwendolen  felt  a  sudden 
alarm  at  the  image  of  Grandcourt  finally  riding  away.  What 
would  be  left  her  then?  Nothing  but  the  former  dreariness. 
She  liked  him  to  be  there.  She  snatched  at  the  subject  that 
would  defer  any  decisive  answer. 

"  I  fear  you  are  not  aware  of  what  has  happened  to  us.  I 
have  lately  had  to  think  so  much  of  my  mamma's  troubles,  that 
other  subjects  have  been  quite  thrown  into  the  background. 
She  has  lost  all  her  fortune,  and  we  are  going  to  leave  this 
place.     I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  my  seeming  preoccupied." 

In  eluding  a  direct  appeal,  Gwendolen  recovered  some  of  her 
self-possession.  She  spoke  with  dignity,  and  looked  straight  at 
Grandcourt,  whose  long,  narrow,  impenetrable  eyes  met  hers, 
and  mysteriously  arrested  them  :  mysteriously ;  for  the  subtly- 
varied  drama  between  man  and  woman  is  often  such  as  can 
hardly  be  rendered  in  words  put  together  like  dominoes,  ac- 
cording to  obvious  fixed  marks.  The  word  of  all  work.  Love, 
will  no  more  express  the  myriad  modes  of 'mutual  attraction 
than  the  word  Thought  can  inform  you  what  is  passing  through 
your  neighbor's  mind.  It  would  be  hard  to  tell  on  which  side 
— Gwendolen's  or  Grandcourt's — the  influence  was  more  mixed. 
At  that  moment  his  strongest  wish  was  to  be  completely  mas- 
ter of  this  creature — this  piquant  combination  of  maidenliness 
and  mischief :  that  she  knew  things  which  had  made  her  start 
away  from  him,  spurred  him  to  triumph  over  that  repugnance ; 
and  he  was  believing  that  he  should  triumph.  And  she — ah, 
piteous  equality  in  the  need  to  dominate ! — she  was  overcome, 


BOOK  III. MAIDENS  CHOOSING.  309 

like  the  thirsty  one  who  is  drawn  toward  the  seeming  water  in 
the  desert;  overcome  by  the  suffused  sense  that  here  in  this 
man's  homage  to  her  lay  the  rescue  from  helpless  subjection  to 
an  oppressive  lot. 

All  the  while  they  w^ere  looking  at  each  other ;  and  Grand- 
court  said,  slowly  and  languidly,  as  if  it  were  of  no  importance, 
other  things  having  been  settled, 

"  You  will  tell  me  now,  T  hope,  that  Mrs.  Davilow's  loss  of 
fortune  will  not  trouble  you  further.  You  will  trust  to  me  to 
prevent  it  from  weighing  upon  her.  You  will  give  me  the 
claim  to  provide  against  that." 

The  little  pauses  and  refined  drawlings  wdth  which  this 
speech  was  uttered  gave  time  for  Gwendolen  to  go  through 
the  dream  of  a  life.  As  the  words  penetrated  her,  they  had 
the  effect  of  a  draught  of  wine,  which  suddenly  makes  all 
things  easier,  desirable  things  not  so  wrong,  and  people  in  gen- 
eral less  disagreeable.  She  had  a  momentary  phantasmal  love 
for  this  man  who  chose  his  words  so  well,  and  who  was  a  mere 
incarnation  of  delicate  homage.  Repugnance,  dread,  scruples 
— these  were  dim  as  remembered  pains,  while  she  was  already 
tasting  relief  under  the  immediate  pain  of  hopelessness.  She 
imagined  herself  already  springing  to  her  mother,  and  being 
playful  again.  Yet  when  Grandcourt  had  ceased  to  speak, 
there  was  an  instant  in  which  she  was  conscious  of  being  at 
the  turning  of  the  ways. 

"  You  are  very  generous,"  she  said,  not  moving  her  eyes,  and 
speaking  with  a  gentle  intonation. 

"  You  accept  what  will  make  such  things  a  matter  of 
course  ?"  said  Grandcourt,  without  any  new  eagerness.  "  You 
consent  to  become  my  wife  ?" 

This  time  Gwendolen  remained  quite  pale.  Something 
made  her  rise  from  her  seat  in  spite  of  herself,  and  walk  to  a 
little  distance.  Then  she  turned,  and,  with  her  hands  folded 
before  her,  stood  in  silence. 

Grandcourt  immediately  rose,  too,  resting  his  hat  on  the 
chair,  but  still  keeping  hold  of  it.  The  evident  hesitation  of 
this  destitute  girl  to  take  his  splendid  offer  stung  him  into  a 
keenness  of  interest  such  as  he  had  not  known  for  years. 
None  the  less  because  he  attributed  her  hesitation  entirely  to 


310  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

her  knowledge  about  Mrs.  Glaslier.  In  that  attitude  of  prepa- 
ration, he  said, 

"  Do  you  command  me  to  go  ?"  No  familiar  spirit  could 
have  suggested  to  him  more  effective  words. 

"  No,"  said  Gwendolen.  She  could  not  let  him  go :  that 
negative  was  a  clutch.  She  seemed  to  herself  to  be,  after  all, 
only  drifted  toward  the  tremendous  decision :  but  drifting  de- 
pends on  something  besides  the  currents,  when  the  sails  have 
been  set  beforehand. 

"  You  accept  my  devotion  ?"  said  Grandcourt,  holding  his 
hat  by  his  side  and  looking  straight  into  her  eyes,  without  oth- 
er movement.  Their  eyes,  meeting  in  that  way,  seemed  to  al- 
low any  length  of  pause ;  but,  wait  as  long  as  she  would,  how 
could  she  contradict  herself  ?  What  had  she  detained  him  for  ? 
He  had  shut  out  any  explanation. 

"  Yes,"  came  as  gravely  from  Gwendolen's  lips  as  if  she  had 
bee«  answering  to  her  name  in  a  court  of  justice.  He  received 
it  gravely,  and  they  still  looked  at  each  other  in  the  same  atti- 
tude. Was  there  ever  before  such  a  way  of  accepting  the 
bliss-ffiving  "  Yes  ?"  Grandcourt  liked  better  to  be  at  that  dis- 
tance  from  her,  and  to  feel  under  a  ceremony  imposed  by  an 
indefinable  prohibition  that  breathed  from  Gwendolen's  bearing. 

But  he  did  at  length  lay  down  his  hat  and  advance  to 
take  her  hand,  just  pressing  his  lips  upon  it,  and  letting  it  go 
again.  She  thought  his  behavior  perfect,  and  gained  a  sense 
of  freedom  which  made  her  almost  ready  to  be  mischievous. 
Her  "  Yes "  entailed  so  little  at  this  moment,  that  there  was 
nothing  to  screen  the  reversal  of  her  gloomy  prospects :  her 
vision  was  filled  by  her  own  release  from  the  Momperts,  and 
her  mother's  release  from  Sawyer's  cottage.  With  a  happy 
curl  of  the  lips,  she  said, 

"  Will  you  not  see  mamma?     I  will  fetch  her." 

"  Let  us  wait  a  little,'.'  said  Grandcourt,  in  his  favorite  atti- 
tude, having  his  left  forefinger  and  thumb  in  his  waistcoat- 
pocket,  and  with  his  right  caressing  his  whisker,  while  he  stood 
near  Gwendolen  and  looked  at  her  —  not  unlike  a  gentleman 
who  has  a  felicitous  introduction  at  an  evening  party. 

"  Have  you  any  thing  else  to  say  to  me  2"  said  Gwendolen, 
playfully. 


BOOK    III. MAIDENS    CHOOSING.  311 

"  Yes.  I  know  having  things  said  to  you  is  a  great  bore," 
said  Grandcourt,  rather  sympathetically. 

"  Not  when  they  are  things  I  like  to  hear." 

"  Will  it  bother  you  to  be  asked  how  soon  we  can  be  mar- 
ried?" 

"  I  think  it  will,  to  -  day,"  said  Gwendolen,  putting  up  her 
chin  saucily. 

"  Not  to-day,  then.  But  to-morrow.  Think  of  it  before  I 
come  to-morrow.  In  a  fortnight — or  three  weeks — as  soon  as 
possible." 

"Ah,  you  think  you  will  be  tired  of  my  company,"  said 
Gwendolen.  "  I  notice  when  people  are  married  the  husband 
is  not  so  much  with  his  w4fe  as  when  they  were  engaged. 
But  perhaps  I  shall  like  that  better  too." 

She*  laughed  charmingly. 

"  You  shall  have  whatever  you  like,"  said  Grandcourt. 

"And  nothing  that  I  don't  like? — please  say  that;  because  I 
think  I  dislike  what  I  don't  like  more  than  I  like  what  I  like," 
said  Gwendolen,  finding  herself  in  the  woman's  paradise  where 
all  her  nonsense  is  adorable. 

Grandcourt  paused:  these  were  subtilties  in  which  he  had 
much  experience  of  his  own.  "  I  don't  know — this  is  such  a 
brute  of  a  world,  things  are  always  turning  up  that  one  doesn't 
like.  I  can't  always  hinder  your  being  bored.  If  you  like  to 
hunt  Criterion,  I  can't  hinder  his  coming  down  by  some  chance 
or  other." 

"Ah,  my  friend  Criterion, how  is  he?" 

"  He  is  outside :  I  made  the  groom  ride  him,  that  you  might 
see  him.  He  had  the  side-saddle  on  for  an  hour  or  two  yester- 
day.    Come  to  the  window  and  look  at  him." 

They  could  see  the  two  horses  being  taken  slowly  round  the 
sweep,  and  the  beautiful  creatures,  in  their  fine  grooming,  sent 
a  thrill  of  exultation  through  Gwendolen.  They  were  the  sym- 
bols of  command  and  luxury,  in  delightful  contrast  with  the 
ugliness  of  poverty  and  humiliation  at  which  she  had  lately 
been  looking  close. 

"  Will  you  ride  Criterion  to-morrow  ?"  said  Grandcourt.  "  If 
you  will,  every  thing  shall  be  arranged." 

"  I  should  like  it  of  all  things,"  said  Gwendolen,     "  I  want 


312  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

to  lose  myself  in  a  gallop  again.  But  now  I  must  go  and  fetch 
mamma." 

"  Take  my  arm  to  the  door,  then,"  said  Grandcourt,  and  she 
accepted.  Their  faces  were  very  near  each  other,  being  almost 
on  a  level,  and  he  was  looking  at  her.  She  thought  his  man- 
ners as  a  lover  more  agreeable  than  any  she  had  seen  described. 
She  had  no  alarm  lest  he  meant  to  kiss  her,  and  was  so  much 
at  her  ease,  that  she  suddenly  paused  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
and  said,  half  archly,  half  earnestly, 

"  Oh,  while  I  think  of  it — there  is  something  I  dislike  that 
you  can  save  me  from.     I  do  not  like  Mr.  Lush's  company." 

"  You  shall  not  have  it.     I'll  get  rid  of  him." 

"  You  are  not-  fond  of  him  yourself  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  least.  I  let  him  hang  on  me  because  he  has 
always  been  a  poor  devil,"  said  Grandcourt,  in  an  adagio  of  ut- 
ter indifference.  "They  got  him  to  travel  with  me  when  I 
was  a  lad.  He  was  always  that  coarse-haired  kind  of  brute — a 
sort  of  cross  between  a  hog  and  a  dilettante.'''' 

Gwendolen  laughed.  All  that  seemed  kind  and  natural 
enough:  Grandcourt's  fastidiousness  enhanced  the  kindness. 
And  when  they  reached  the  door,  his  way  of  opening  it  for 
her  was  the  perfection  of  easy  homage.  Really,  she  thought, 
he  was  likely  to  be  the  least  disagreeable  of  husbands. 

Mrs.  Davilow  was  waiting  anxiously  in  her  bedroom  when 
Gwendolen  entered,  stepped  toward  her  quickly,  and,  kissing 
her  on  both  cheeks,  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "  Come  down,  mamma, 
and  see  Mr.  Grandcourt.     I  am  engaged  to  him." 

"  My  darling  child !"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  with  a  surprise  that 
was  rather  solemn  than  glad. 

"  Yes,"  said  Gwendolen,  in  the  same  tone,  and  with  a  quick- 
ness which  implied  that  it  was  needless  to  ask  questions. 
"  Every  thing  is  settled.  You  are  not  going  to  Sawyer's  cot- 
tage, I  am  not  going  to  be  inspected  by  Mrs.  Mompert,  and 
every  thing  is  to  be  as  I  like.  So  come  down  with  me  im- 
mediately." 


BOOK    IV. 


GWENDOLEN  GETS  HER  CHOICE. 


Vol.  L— U 


BOOK   IV. 

GWENDOLEN  GETS  HER  CHOICE. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


"  n  est  plus  aise  de  connoitre  rhomme  en  general  que  de  connoitre  un 
hoQime  en  particuller.'' — La  Rochefoucauld. 

An  hour  after  Grandcourt  had  left,  the  important  news  of 
Gwendolen's  engagement  was  known  at  the  rectory,  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  with  Anna,  spent  the  evening  at  Offendene. 

''  My  dear,  let  me  congi-atulate  you  on  having  created  a 
strong  attachment,"  said  the  rector.  "  You  look  serious,  and  I 
don't  wonder  at  it :  a  life-long  union  is  a  solemn  thing.  But 
from  the  way  Mr.  Grandcourt  has  acted  and  spoken,  I  think  we 
may  already  see  some  good  arising  out  of  our  adversity.  It 
has  given  you  an  opportunity  of  observing  your  future  hus- 
b/md's  delicate  liberality." 

Mr.  Gascoigne  refeiTed  to  Grandcourt's  mode  of  implying 
that  he  would  provide  for  Mrs.  Davilow — a  part  of  the  love- 
making  which  Gwendolen  had  remembered  to  cite  to  her  moth- 
er with  perfect  accuracy. 

"  But  I  have  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Grandcourt  would  have  be- 
haved quite  as  handsomely  if  you  had  not  gone  away  to  Ger- 
many, Gwendolen,  and  had  been  engaged  to  him,  as  you  no 
doubt  might  have  been,  more  than  a  month  ago,"  said  Mrs. 
Gascoigne,  feeling  that  she  had  to  discharge  a  duty  on  this  oc- 
casion. "  But  now  there  is  no  more  room  for  caprice ;  indeed, 
I  trust  you  have  no  inclination  to  any.  A  woman  has  a  great 
debt  of  gratitude  to  a  man  who  perseveres  in  making  her  such 
an  offer.     But  no  doubt  you  feel  properly." 


316  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  I  do,  aunt,"  said  Gwendolen,  with 
saucy  gravity.  "  I  don't  know  every  thing  it  is  proper  to  feel 
on  being  engaged." 

The  rector  patted  her  shoulder  and  smiled  as  at  a  bit  of  in- 
nocent naughtiness,  and  his  wife  took  his  behavior  as  an  indi- 
cation that  she  was  not  to  be  displeased.  As  for  Anna,  she 
kissed  Gwendolen,  and  said,  "  I  do  hope  you  will  be  happy," 
but  then  sunk  into  the  background  and  tried  to  keep  the  tears 
back  too.  In  the  late  days  she  had  been  imagining  a  little  ro- 
mance about  Rex — how,  if  he  still  longed  for  Gwendolen,  her 
heart  might  be  softened  by  trouble  into  love,  so  that  they 
could  by-and-by  be  married.  And  the  romance  had  turned  to  a 
prayer  that  she,  Anna,  might  be  able  to  rejoice  like  a  good  sis- 
ter, and  only  think  of  being  useful  in  working  for  Gwendolen, 
as  long  as  Rex  was  not  rich.  But  now  she  wanted  grace  to 
rejoice  in  something  else.  Miss  Merry  and  the  four  girls— 
Ahce,  with  the  high  shoulders ;  Bertha  and  Fanny,  the  whis- 
perers ;  and  Isabel,  the  listener — were  all  present  on  this  family 
occasion,  wdien  every  thing  seemed  appropriately  turning  to  the 
honor  and  glory  of  Gwendolen,  and  real  life  was  as  interest- 
ing as  "  Sir  Charles  Grandison."  The  evening  passed  chiefly  in 
decisive  remarks  from  the  rector,  in  answer  to  conjectures  from 
the  two  elder  ladies.  According  to  him,  the  case  was  not  one 
in  which  he  could  think  it  his  duty  to  mention  settlements. 
Every  thing  must,  and  doubtless  would,  safely  be  left  to  Mr. 
Grandcourt. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  exactly  what  sort  of  places  Ryelands 
and  Gadsmere  are,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow. 

"  Gadsmere,  I  believe,  is  a  secondary  place,"  said  Mr.  Gas- 
coigne;  "but  Ryelands  I  know  to  be  one  of  our  finest  seats. 
The  park  is  extensive  and  the  woods  of  a  very  valuable  order. 
The  house  was  built  by  Inigo  Jones,  and  the  ceilings  are  paint- 
ed in  the  Italian  style.  The  estate  is  said  to  be  worth  twelve 
thousand  a  year;  and  there  are  two  livings,  one  a  rectory,  in 
the  gift  of  the  Grandcourts.  There  may  be  some  burdens  on 
the  land.     Still,  Mr.  Grandcourt  was  an  only  child." 

"  It  would  be  most  remarkable,"  said  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  "  if  he 
were  to  become  Lord  Stannery,  in  addition  to  every  thing  else. 
Only  think :  there  is  the  Grandcourt  estate,  the  Mallinger  es- 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  3l7 

tate,  and  the  baronetcy,  and  the  peerage" — she  was  marking 
off  the  items  on  her  fingers,  and  paused  on  the  fourth  while 
she  added,  "  but  they  say  there  will  be  no  land  coming  to  him 
with  the  peerage."  It  seemed  a  pity  there  was  nothing  for 
the  fifth  finger. 

"  The  peerage,"  said  the  rector,  judiciously,  "  must  be  re- 
garded as  a  remote  chance.  There  are  two  cousins  between 
the  present  peer  and  Mr.  Grandcourt.  It  is  certainly  a  serious 
reflection  how  death  and  other  causes  do  sometimes  concentrate 
inheritances  on  one  man.  But  an  excess  of  that  kind  is  to  be 
deprecated.  To  be  Sir  Mallinger  Grandcourt  Mallinger — I  sup- 
pose that  will  be  his  style — with  the  corresponding  properties, 
is  a  valuable  talent  enough  for  any  man  to  have  committed  to 
him.     Let  us  hope  it  will  be  well  used." 

"  And  what  a  position  for  the  wife,  Gwendolen !"  said  Mrs. 
Gascoigne ;  "  a  great  responsibility  indeed.  But  you  must  lose 
no  time  in  -vyriting  to  Mrs.  Mompert,  Henry.  It  is  a  good 
thing  that  you  have  an  engagement  of  marriage  to  offer  as  an 
excuse,  else  she  might  feel  offended.  She  is  ratlier  a  high 
woman." 

"I  am  rid  of  that  horror,"  thought  Gwendolen,  to  whom 
the  name  of  Mompert  had  become  a  sort  of  Mumbo-jumbo. 
She  was  very  silent  through  the  evening,  and  that  night  could 
hardly  sleep  at  all  in  her  little  white  bed.  It  was  a  rarity  in 
her  strong  youth  to  be  wakeful;  and  perhaps  a  still  greater 
rarity  for  her  to  be  careful  that  her  mother  should  not  know 
of  her  restlessness.  But  her  state  of  mind  was  altogether  new. 
She  who  had  been  used  to  feel  sure  of  herself,  and  ready  to 
manage  others,  had  just  taken  a  decisive  step  which  she  had 
beforehand  thought  that  she  would  not  take — nay,  perhaps, 
was  bound  not  to  take.  She  could  not  go  backward  now ;  she 
liked  a  great  deal  of  what  lay  before  her ;  and  there  was  noth- 
ing for  her  to  like  if  she  went  back.  But  her  resolution  was 
dogged  by  the  shadow  of  that  p-revious  resolve  which  had  at 
first  come  as  the  undoubting  movement  of  her  whole  being. 
While  she  lay  on  her  pillow  with  wide-open  eyes, "  looking  on 
darkness  which  'the  blind  do  see,"  she  was  appalled  by  the  idea 
that  she  was  going  to  do  what  she  had  once  started  away  from 
with  repugnance.     It  was  new  to  her  that  a  question  of  right 


318  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

or  wrong  in  her  conduct  should  rouse  her  terror;  she  had 
known  no  compunction  that  atoning  caresses  and  presents 
could  not  lay  to  rest.  But  here  had  come  a  moment  when 
something  like  a  new  consciousness  was  awaked.  She  seem- 
ed on  the  edge  of  adopting  deliberately,  as  a  notion  for  all  the 
rest  of  her  life,  what  she  had  rashly  said  in  her  bitterness, 
when  her  discovery  had  driven  her  away  to  Leubronn — that  it 
did  not  signify  what  she  did ;  she  had  only  to  amuse  herself  as 
best  she  could.  That  lawlessness,  that  casting-away  of  all  care 
for  justification,  suddenly  frightened  her :  it  came  to  her  with 
the  shadowy  array  of  possible  calamity  behind  it  —  calamity 
which  had  ceased  to  be  a  mere  name  for  her ;  and  all  the  in- 
filtrated influences  of  disregarded  religious  teaching,  as  well  as 
the  deeper  impressions  of  something  awful  and  inexorable  en- 
veloping her,  seemed  to  concentrate  themselves  in  the  vague 
conception  of  avenging  power.  The  brilliant  position  she  had 
longed  for,  the  imagined  freedom  she  would  create  for  herself 
in  marriage,  the  deliverance  from  the  dull  insignificance  of  her 
girlhood — all  were  immediately  before  her;  and  yet  they  had 
come'cO  her  hunger  like  food  with  the  taint  of  sacrilege  upon 
it,  which  she  must  snatch  with  terror.  In  the  darkness  and 
loneliness  of  her  little  bed,  her  more  resistant  self  could  not  act 
against  the  first  onslaught  of  dread  after  her  irrevocable  de- 
cision. That  unhappy-faced  woman  and  her  children — Grand- 
court  and  his  relations  with  her — kept  repeating  themselves  in 
her  imagination  like  the  clinging  memory  of  a  disgrace,  and 
gradually  obliterated  •  all  other  thought,  leaving  only  the  con- 
sciousness that  she  had  taken  those  scenes  into  her  life.  Her 
long  wakefulness  seemed  a  delirium ;  a  faint,  faint  light  pen- 
etrated beside  the  window  -  curtain ;  the  chillness  increased. 
She  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  cried  '^Mamma !" 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  Mr?  Davilow,  immediately,  in  a  wakeful 
voice. 

"  Let  me  come  to  you." 

She  soon  went  to  sleep  on  her  mother's  shoulder,  and  slept 
on  till  late,  when,  dreaming  of  a  lighted-up  ball-room,  she  open- 
ed her  eyes  on  her  mother,  standing  by  the  bedside  with  a 
small  packet  in  her  hand. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  wake  you,  darling,  but  I  thought  it  better  to 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  319 

give  you  this  at  once.     The  groom  has  brought  Criterion ;  he 
has  come  on  another  horse,  and  says  he  is  to  stay  here." 

Gwendolen  sat  up  in  bed,  and  opened  the  packet.  It  was  a 
delicate  little  enameled  casket,  and  inside  was  a  splendid  dia- 
mond ring,  with  a  letter  which  contained  a  folded  bit  of  colored 
paper  and  these  words : 

"Pray  wear  this  ring  when  I  come  at  twelve,  in  sign  of 
our  betrothal.  I  inclose  a  check  drawn  in  the  name  of  Mr. 
Gascoigne,  for  immediate  expenses.  Of  course,  Mrs.  Davilow 
will  remain  at  Offendene,  at  least  for  some  time.  I  hope,  when 
I  come,  you  will  have  granted  me  an  early  day,  when  you  may 
begin  to  command  me  at  a  shorter  distance.     Yours  devotedly, 

"  H.  M.  Grandcourt." 

The  check  was  for  five  hundred  pounds,  and  Gwendolen 
turned  it  toward  her  mother,  with  the  letter. 

"  How  very  kind  and  delicate !"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  with 
much  feeling.  "  But  I  really  should  like  better  not  to  be  de- 
pendent on  a  son-in-law.  I  and  the  girls  could  get  al  ag  very 
well." 

"  Mamma,  if  you  say  that  again  I  Avill  not  many  him !"  said 
Gwendolen,  angrily. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  trust  you  are  not  going  to  marry  only  for 
my  sake,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  deprecatingly. 

Gwendolen  tossed  her  head  on  the  pillow  away  from  her 
mother,  and  let  the  ring  lie.  She  was  irritated  at  this  attempt 
to  take  away  a  motive.  Perhaps  the  deeper  cause  of  her  irri- 
tation was  the  consciousness  that  she  was  not  going  to  marry 
solely  for  her  mamma's  sake — that  she  was  drawn  toward  the 
marriage  in  ways  agaiAst  which  stronger  reasons'  than  her  moth- 
er's renunciation  were  yet  not  strong  enough  to  hinder  her. 
She  had  waked  up  to  the  signs  that  she  was  irrevocably  en- 
gaged, and  all  the  ugly  visions,  the  alarms,  the  arguments  of 
the  night,  must  be  met  by  daylight,  in  which,  probably,  they 
would  show  themselves  weak. 

"  AVhat  I  long  for  is  your  happiness,  dear,"  continued  Mrs. 
Davilow,  pleadingly.  "  I  will  not  say  any  thing  to  vex  you. 
Will  you  not  put  on  the  ring  ?" 


320  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

For  a  few  moments  Gwendolen  did  not  answer,  but  her 
thoughts  were  active.  At  last  she  raised  herself  with  a  deter- 
mination to  do  as  she  would  do  if  she  had  started  on  horse- 
back, and  go  on  with  spirit,  whatever  ideas  might  be  running 
in  her  head. 

"  I  thought  the  lover  always  put  on  the  betrothal  ring  him- 
self," she  said,  laughingly,  slipping  the  ring  on  her  finger,  and 
looking:  at  it  with  a  charmino^  movement  of  her  head.  "  I 
know  why  he  has  sent  it,"  she  added,  nodding  at  her  mamma. 

"Why?" 

"  He  would  rather  make  me  put  it  on  than  ask  me  to  let 
him  do  it.  Aha !  he  is"  very  proud.  But  so  am  I.  We  shall 
match  each  other.  I  should  hate  a  man  who  went  down  on 
his  knees  and  came  fawning  on  me.  He  really  is  not  disgust- 
ing." 

"  That  is  very  moderate  praise,  Gwen." 

"  No,  it  is  not,  for  a  man,"  said  Gwendolen,  gayly.  "  But 
now  I  must  get  up  and  dress.  Will  you  come  and  do  my  hair, 
mamma  dear,"  she  went  on,  drawing  down  her  mamma's  face 
to  caress  it  with  her  own  cheeks,  "  and  not  be  so  naughty  any 
more  as  to  talk  of  living  in  poverty?  You  must  bear  to  be 
made  comfortable,  even  if  you  don't  like  it.  And  Mr.  Grand- 
court  behaves  perfectly,  now,  does  he  not  ?" 

"  Certainly  he  does,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow,  encouraged,  and  per- 
suaded that,  after  all,  Gwendolen  was  fond  of  her  betrothed. 
She  herself  thought  him  a  man  whose  attentions  were  likely  to 
tell  on  a  girl's  feeling.  Suitors  must  often  be  judged  as  words 
are — by  the  standing  and  the  figure  they  make  in  polite  so- 
ciety :  it  is  difficult  to  know  much  else  of  them.  And  all  the 
mother's  anxiety  turned,  not  on  Grandcourt's  character,  but  on 
Gwendolen's  mood  in  accepting  him. 

The  mood  was  necessarily  passing  through  a  new  phase 
this  morning.  Even  in  the  hour  of  making  her  toilet,  she  had 
drawn  on  all  the  knowledge  she  had  for  grounds  to  justify  her 
marriage.  And  what  she  most  dwelt  on  was  the  determina- 
tion that  when  she  was  Grandcourt's  wife,  she  would  urge  him 
to  the  most  liberal  conduct  toward  Mrs.  Glasher's  children. 

"  Of  what  use  would  it  be  to  her  that  I  should  not  marry 
him  ?     He  could  have  married  her  if  he  had  liked :  but  he  did 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  321 

not  like.  Perhaps  she  is  to  blame  for  that.  There  must  be 
a  great  deal  about  her  that  I  know  nothing  of.  And  he  must 
have  been  good  to  her  in  many  ways,  else  she  would  not  have 
wanted  to  marry  him." 

But  that  last  argument  at  once  began  to  appear  doubtful. 
Mrs.  Glasher  naturally  wished  to  exclude  other  children  who 
would  stand  between  Grandcourt  and  her  own ;  and  Gwendo- 
len's comprehension  of  this  feeling  prompted  another  way  of 
reconciling  claims. 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  have  no  children.  I  hope  we  shall  not. 
And  he  might  leave  the  estate  to  the  pretty  little  boy.  My 
uncle  said  that  Mr.  Grandcourt  could  do  as  he  liked  with  the 
estates.  Only,  when  Sir  Hugo  Mallinger  dies  there  will  be 
enough  for  two." 

This  made  Mrs.  Glasher  appear  quite  unreasonable  in  de- 
manding that  her  boy  should  be  sole  heir;  and  the  double 
property  was  a  security  that  Grandcourt's  marriage  would  do 
her  no  wrong,  when  the  wife  was  Gwendolen  Harleth  with  all 
her  proud  resolution  not  to  be  fairly  accused.  This  maiden 
had  been  accustomed  to  think  herself  blameless :  other  persons 
only  were  faulty. 

It  was  striking,  that  in  the  hold  which  this  argument  of  her 
doing  no  wrong  to  Mrs.  Glasher  had  taken  on  her  mind,  her 
repugnance  to  the  idea  of  Grandcourt's  past  had  sunk  into  a 
subordinate  feeling.  The  terror  she  had  felt  in  the  night- 
watches  at  overstepping  the  border  of  wickedness  by  doing 
what  she  had  at  first  felt  to  be  wrong,  had  dulled  any  emotions 
about  his  conduct.  She  was  thinking  of  him,  whatever  he 
might  be,  as  a  man  over  whom  she  was  going  to  have  indefi.- 
nite  power;  and  her  loving  him  having  never  been  a  question 
with  her,  any  agreeableness  he  had  was  so  much  gain.  Poor 
Gwendolen  had  no  awe  of  unmanageable  forces  in  the  state  of 
matrimony,  but  regarded  it  as  altogether  a  matter  of  manage- 
ment, in  which  she  would  know  how  to  act.  In  relation  to 
Grandcourt's  past  she  encouraged  new  doubts  whether  he  were 
likely  to  have  differed  much  from  other  men ;  and  she  de- 
vised little  schemes  for  learning  what  was  expected  of  men  in 
general. 

But  whatever  else  might  be  true  in  the  world,  her  hair  was 
14* 


322  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

dressed  suitably  for  riding,  and  she  went  down  in  her  riding- 
habit,  to  avoid  delay  before  getting  on  horseback.  She  wanted 
to  have  her  blood  stirred  once  more  with  the  intoxication  of 
youth,  and  to  recover  the  daring  with  which  she  had  been  used 
to  think  of  her  course  in  life.  Already  a  load  was  lifted  off 
her ;  for  in  daylight  and  activity  it  was  less  oppressive  to  have 
doubts  about  her  choice  than  to  feel  that  she  had  no  choice 
but  to  endure  insignificance  and  servitude. 

"  Go  back  and  make  yourself  look  like  a  duchess,  mamma," 
she  said,  turning  suddenly  as  she  was  going  down-stairs.  "  Put 
your  point-lace  over  your  head.  I  must  have  you  look  like  a 
duchess.     You  must  not  take  things  humbly." 

When  Grandcourt  raised  her  left  hand  gently  and  looked  at 
the  ring,  she  said,  gravely,  "  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  think 
of  every  thing  and  send  me  that  packet." 

"You  will  tell  me  if  there  is  any  thing  I  forget?"  he  said, 
keeping  the  hand  softly  within  his  own.  "  I  will  do  any  thing 
you  wish." 

"  But  I  am  very  unreasonable  in  my  wishes,"  said  Gwendolen, 
smiling. 

"  Yes,  I  expect  that.     Women  always  are." 

"  Then  I  will  not  be  unreasonable,"  said  Gwendolen,  taking 
away  her  hand,  and  tossing  her  head  saucily.  "  I  will  not  be 
told  that  I  am  what  women  always  are." 

"  I  did  not  say  that,"  said  Grandcourt,  looking  at  her  with 
khis  usual  gravity.     "  You  are  what  no  other  woman  is." 

"And  what  is  that,  pray?"  said  Gwendolen,  moving  to  a 
distance  with  a  little  air  of  menace. 

Grandcourt  made  his  pause  before  he  answered.  "  You  are 
the  woman  I  love." 

"  Oh,  what  nice  speeches !"  said  Gwendolen,  laughing.  The 
sense  of  that  love  which  he  must  once  have  given  to  another 
woman  under  strange  circumstances  was  getting  familiar. 

"  Give  me  a  nice  speech  in  return.  Say  when  we  are  to  be 
married." 

"  Not  yet.  Not  till  we  have  had  a  gallop  over  the  downs. 
I  am  so  thirsty  for  that  I  can  think  of  nothing  else.  I  wish 
the  hunting  had  begun.  Sunday  the  20th,  27th,  Monday,  Tues- 
day."    Gwendolen  was  counting  on  her  fingers  with  the  pret- 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  323 

tiest  nod  while  she  looked  at  Grandcourt,  and  at  last  swept  one 
palm  over  the  other  while  she  said,  triumphantly,  "  It  will  be- 
gin in  ten  days !" 

"Let  us  be  married  in  ten  days,  then,"  said  Grandcourt, 
"  and  we  shall  not  be  bored  about  the  stables." 

"  What  do  women  always  say  in  answer  to  that  ?"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, mischievously. 

"  They  agree  to  it,"  said  the  lover,  rather  off  his  guard. 

"  Then  I  will  not !"  said  Gwendolen,  taking  up  her  gauntlets 
and  putting  them  on,  while  she  kept  her  eyes  on  him  with 
gathering  fun  in  them. 

The  scene  was  pleasant  on  both  sides.  A  cruder  lover  would 
have  lost  the  view  of  her  pretty  ways  and  attitudes,  and  spoil-* 
ed  all  by  stupid  attempts  at  caresses,  utterly  destructive  of 
drama.  Grandcourt  preferred  the  drama;  and  Gwendolen, 
left  at  ease,  found  her  spirits  rising  continually  as  she  played 
at  reigning.  Perhaps  if  Klesmer  had  seen  more  of  her  in  this 
unconscious  kind  of  acting,  instead  of  when  she  w^as  trying  to 
be  theatrical,  he  might  have  rated  her  chance  higher. 

When  they  had  had  a  glorious  gallop,  however,  she  was  in  a 
state  of  exhilaration  that  disposed  her  to  think  well  of  hasten- 
ing the  marriage  which  would  make  her  life  all  of  a  piece  with 
this  splendid  kind  of  enjoyment.  She  would  not  debate  any 
more  about  an  act  to  which  she  had  committed  herself;  and 
she  consented  to  fix  the  wedding  on  that  day  three  weeks,  not- 
withstanding the  difficulty  of  fulfilling  the  customary  laws  of 
the  trousseau. 

Lush,  of  course,  was  made  aware  of  the  engagement  by 
abundant  signs,  without  being  formally  told.  But  he  expected 
some  communication  as  a  consequence  of  it,  and  after  a  few 
days  he  became  rather  impatient  under  Grandcourt's  silence, 
feeling  sure  that  the  change  Tj^ould  affect  his  personal  prospects, 
and  wishing  to  know  exactly  how.  His  tactics  no  longer  in- 
cluded any  opposition — which  he  did  not  love  for  its  own  sake. 
He  might  easily  cause  Grandcourt  a  great  deal  of  annoyance, 
but  it  would  be  to  his  own  injury,  and  to  create  annoyance  was 
not  a  motive  with  him.  Miss  Gwendolen  he  would  certainly 
not  have  been  sorry  to  frustrate  a  little ;  but,  after  all,  there 
was  no  knowing  what  would  come.     It  was  nothing  new  that 


324  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Grandcourt  should  show  a  perverse  willfulness ;  yet  in  his  freak 
about  this  girl  he  struck  Lush  rather  newly  as  something  like 
a  man  who  was  fey — led  on  by  an  ominous  fatality ;  and  that 
one  born  to  his  fortune  should  make  a  worse  business  of  his 
life  than  was  necessary,  seemed  really  pitiable.  Having  protest- 
ed against  the  marriage,  Lush  had  a  second-sight  for  its  evil 
consequences.  Grandcourt  had  been  taking  the  pains  to  write 
letters  and  give  orders  himself  instead  of  employing  Lush ;  and 
appeared  to  be  ignoring  his  usefulness,  even  choosing,  against 
the  habit  of  years,  to  breakfast  alone  in  his  dressing-room. 
But  a  tete-a-tete  was  not  to  be  avoided  in  a  house  empty  of 
guests ;  and  Lush  hastened  to  use  an  opportunity  of  saying — 
it  was  one  day  after  dinner,  for  there  were  difficulties  in  Grand- 
court's  dining  at  Offendene — 

"  And  when  is  the  marriage  to  take  place  ?" 

Grandcourt,  who  drank  little  wine,  had  left  the  table  and  was 
lounging,  while  he  smoked,  in  an  easy-chair  near  the  hearth, 
where  a  fire  of  oak  boughs  was  gaping  to  its  glowing  depths, 
and  edgfinor  them  with  a  delicate  tint  of  ashes  delightful  to  be- 
hold.  The  chair  of  red-brown  velvet  brocade  was  a  becoming 
background  for  his  pale-tinted,  well-cut  features  and  exquisite 
long  hands.  Omitting  the  cigar,  you  might  have  imagined  him 
a  portrait  by  Moroni,  who  would  have  rendered  wonderfully 
the  impenetrable  gaze  and  air  of  distinction ;  and  a  portrait  by 
that  great  master  would  have  been  quite  as  lively  a  companion 
as  Grandcourt  was  disposed  to  be.  But  he  answered  without 
unusual  delay : 

"On  the  10th." 

"  I  suppose  you  intend  to  remain  here  ?" 

"  We  shall  go  to  Ryelands  for  a  little  while ;  but  we  shall 
return  here  for  the  sake  of  the  hunting." 

After  this  word  there  was  the  languid  inarticulate  sound  fre- 
quent with  Grandcourt  when  he  meant  to  continue  speaking, 
and  Lush  waited  for  something  more.  Nothing  came,  and  he 
was  going  to  put  another  question,  when  the  inarticulate  sound 
began  again  and  introduced  the  mildly  uttered  suggestion, 

"  You  had  better  make  some  new  arrangement  for  yourself." 

"What!  I  am  to  cut  and  run?"  said  Lush,  prepared  to  be 
good-tempered  on  the  occasion. 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  325 

"  Something  of  that  kind." 

"  The  bride  objects  to  me.  I  hope  she  will  make  up  to  you 
for  the  want  of  my  services." 

"  I  can't  help  your  being  so  damnably  disagreeable  to  wom- 
en," said  Grandcourt,  in  soothing  apology. 

"  To  one  woman,  if  you  please." 

*'  It  makes  no  difference,  since  she  is  the  one  in  question." 

"  I  suppose  I  am  not  to  be  turned  adrift,  after  fifteen  years, 
without  some  provision." 

"  You  must  have  saved  something  out  of  me." 

"Deuced  little.     I  have  often  saved*something  for  you." 

"  You  can  have  three  hundred  a  year.  But  you  must  live  in 
town  and  be  ready  to  look  after  things  for  me  when  I  want 
you.     I  shall  be  rather  hard  up." 

"  If  you  are  not  going  to  be  at  Ry elands  this  winter,  I  might 
run  down  there  and  let  you  know  how  Swinton  goes  on." 

"  If  you  like.  I  don't  care  a  toss  where  you  are,  so  that  you 
keep  out  of  sight." 

"  Much  obliged,"  said  Lush,  able  to  take  the  affair  more 
easily  than  he  had  expected.  He  was  supported  by  the  secret 
belief  that  he  should,  by-and-by,  be  wanted  as  much  as  ever. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  not  object  to  packing  up  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible," said  Grandcourt.  "The  Torringtons  are  coming,  and 
Miss  Harleth  will  be  riding  over  here." 

"With  all  my  heart.  Can't  I  be  of  use  in  going  to  Gads- 
mere  ?" 

"  No.     I  am  going  myself." 

"About  your  being  rather  hard  up.  Have  you  thought  of 
that  plan — " 

"  Just  leave  me  alone,  will  you  ?"  said  Grandcourt,  in  his 
lowest  audible  tone,  tossing  his  cigar  into  the  fire,  and  rising  to 
walk  away. 

He  spent  the  evening  in  the  solitude  of  the  smaller  drawing- 
room,  where,  with  various  new  publications  on  the  table,  of  the 
kind  a  gentleman  may  like  to  have  at  hand  without  touching, 
he  employed  himself  (as  a  philosopher  might  have  done)  in 
sitting  meditatively  on  a  sofa  and  abstaining  from  literature — 
political,  comic,  cynical,  or  romantic.  In  this  way  hours  may 
pass  surprisingly  soon,  without  the  arduous  invisible  chase  of 


326  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

philosophy ;  not  from  love  of  thought,  but  from  hatred  of  ef- 
fort— from  a  state  of  the  inward  world,  something  like  prema- 
ture age,  where  the  need  for  action  lapses  into  a  mere  image  of 
what  has  been,  is,  and  may  or  might  be ;  where  impulse  is  born 
and  dies  in  a  phantasmal  world,  pausing  in  rejection  even  of  a 
shadowy  fulfillment.  That  is  a  condition  which  often  comes 
with  whitening  hair  ;  and  sometimes,  too,  an  intense  obstinacy 
and  tenacity  of  rule,  like  the  main  trunk  of  an  exorbitant  ego- 
ism, conspicuous  in  proportion  as  the  varied  susceptibilities  of 
younger  years  are  stripped  away. 

But  Grandcourt's  hair,  though  he  had  not  much  of  it,  was  of 
a  fine  sunny  blonde,  and  his  moods  were  not  entirely  to  be  ex- 
plained as  ebbing  energy.  We  mortals  have  a  strange  spirit- 
ual chemistry  going  on  within  us,  so  that  a  lazy  stagnation  or 
even  a  cottony  milkiness  may  be  preparing  one  knows  not 
what  biting  or  explosive  material.  The  navvy  waking  from 
sleep  and  without  malice  heaving  a  stone  to  crush  the  life  out 
of  his  still  sleeping  comrade,  is  understood  to  lack  the  trained 
motive  which  makes  a  character  fairly  calculable  in  its  actions ; 
but  by  a  roundabout  course  even  a  gentleman  may  make  of 
himself  a  chancy  personage,  raising  an  uncertainty  as  to  what 
he  may  do  next,  which  sadly  spoils  companionship. 

Grandcourt's  thoughts  this  evening  were  like  the  circlets  one 
sees  in  a  dark  pool,  continually  dying  out  and  continually  start- 
ed again  by  some  impulse  from  below  the  surface.  The  deep- 
er central  impulse  came  from  the  image  of  Gwendolen ;  but  the 
thoughts  it  stirred  would  be  imperfectly  illustrated  by  a  refer- 
ence to  the  amatory  poets  of  all  ages.  It  was  characteristic 
that  he  got  none  of  his  satisfaction  from  the  belief  that  Gwen- 
dolen was  in  love  with  him,  and  that  love  had  overcome  the 
jealous  resentment  which  had  made  her  run  away  from  him. 
On  the  contrary,  he  believed  that  this  girl  was  rather  excep- 
tional in  the  fact  that,  in  spite  of  his  assiduous  attention  to 
her,  she  was  not  in  love  with  him ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  very 
likely  that,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  sudden  poverty  which 
had  come  over  her  family,  she  would  not  have  accepted  him. 
From  the  very  first  there  had  been  an  exasperating  fascination 
in  the  tricksiness  with  which  she  had — not  met  his  advances, 
but  wheeled  away  from  them.     She  had  been  brought  to  ac- 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  327 

cept  liim  in  spite  of  every  thing — brought  to  kneel  down  like 
a  horse  under  training  for  the  arena,  though  she  might  have  an 
objection  to  it  all  the  while.  On  the  whole,  Grandcourt  got 
more  pleasure  out  of  this  notion  than  he  could  have  done  out 
of  winning  a  girl  of  whom  he  was  sure  that  she  had  a  strong 
inclination  for  him  personally.  And  yet,  this  pleasure  in  mas- 
tering reluctance  flourished  along  with  the  habitual  persuasion 
that  no  woman  whom  he  favored  could  be  quite  indifferent  to 
his  personal  influence ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  not  unlikely  that 
by-and-by  Gwendolen  might  be  more  enamored  of  him  than  he 
of  her.  In  any  case,  she  would  have  to  submit ;  and  he  enjoy- 
ed thinking  of  her  as  his  future  wife,  whose  pride  and  spirit 
were  suited  to  command  every  one  but  himself.  He  had  no 
taste  for  a  woman  who  was  all  tenderness  to  him,  full  of  peti- 
tioning solicitude  and  willijig  obedience.  He  meant  to  be  mas- 
ter of  a  woman  who  would  have  liked  to  master  him,  and  who 
perhaps  would  have  been  capable  of  mastering  another  man. 

Lush,  having  failed  in  his  attempted  reminder  to  Grandcourt, 
thought  it  well  to  communicate  with  Sir  Hugo,  in  whom,  as  a 
man  having  perhaps  interest  enough  to  command  the  bestowal 
of  some  place  where  the  work  was  light,  gentlemanly,  and  not 
ill-paid,  he  was  anxious  to  cultivate  a  sense  of  friendly  obliga- 
tion, not  feeling  at  all  secure  against  the  future  need  of  such  a 
place.  He  wrote  the  following  letter,  and  addressed  it  to  Park 
Lane,  whither  he  knew  the  family  had  returned  from  Leubronn : 

"  My  dear  Sir  Hugo, — Since  we  came  home  the  marriage 
has  been  absolutely  decided  on,  and  is  to  take  place  in  less  than 
three  weeks.  It  is  so  far  the  worse  for  him  that  her  mother 
has  lately  lost  all  her  fortune,  and  he  will  have  to  find  supplies. 
Grandcourt,  I  know,  is  feeling  the  want  of  cash ;  and  unless 
some  other  plan  is  resorted  to,  he  will  be  raising  money  in  a 
foolish  way.  I  am  going  to  leave  Diplow  immediately,  and  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  start  the  topic.  AVhat  I  should  advise  is, 
that  Mr.  Deronda,  who,  I  know,  has  your  confidence,  should  pro- 
pose to  come  and  pay  a  short  visit  here,  according  to  invitation 
(there  are  going  to  be  other  people  in  the  house),  and  that  you 
should  put  him  fully  in  possession  of  your  wishes  and  the  pos- 
sible extent  of  your  offer.     Then,  that  he  should  introduce  the 


328  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

subject  to  Grandcourt  so  as  not  to  imply  that  you  suspect  any 
particular  want  of  money  on  his  part,  but  only  that  there  is  a 
strong  wish  on  yours.  vVhat  I  have  formerly  said  to  him  has 
been  in  the  way  of  a  conjecture  that  you  might  be  willing  to 
give  a  good  sum  for  his  chance  of  Diplow  ;  but  if  Mr.  Deronda 
came  armed  with  a  definite  offer,  that  would  take  another  sort 
of  hold.  Ten  to  one,  he  will  not  close  for  some  time  to  come-; 
but  the  proposal  will  have  got  a  stronger  lodgment  in  his  mind ; 
and  though  at  present  he  has  a  great  notion  of  the  hunting  here, 
I  see  a  likelihood,  under  the  circumstances,  that  he  will  get  a  dis- 
taste for  the  neighborhood,  and  there  will  be  the  notion  of  the 
money  sticking  by  him  without  being  urged.  I  would  bet  on 
your  ultimate  success.  As  I  am  not  to  be  exiled  to  Siberia, 
but  am  to  be  within  call,  it  is  possible  that,  by-and-by,  I  may 
be  of  more  service  to  you.  But  at  present  I  can  think  of  no 
medium  so  good  as  Mr.  Deronda.  Nothing  puts  Grandcourt  in 
worse  humor  than  having  the  lawyers  thrust  their  paper  under 
his  nose  uninvited. 

"Trusting  that  your  visit  to  Leubronn  has  put  you  in  ex- 
cellent condition  for  the  winter,  I  remain,  my  dear  Sir  Hugo, 
yours,  very  faithfully,  Thomas  Cranmer  Lush." 

Sir  Hu2:o,  havino^  received  this  letter  at  breakfast,  handed  it 
to  Deronda,  who,  though  he  had  chambers  in  town,  was  some- 
how hardly  ever  in  them,  Sir  Hugo  not  being  contented  with- 
out him.  The  chatty  baronet  would  have  liked  a  young  com- 
panion, even  if  there  had  been  no  peculiar  reasons  for  attach- 
ment between  them  —  one  with  a  fine,  harmonious,  unspoiled 
face,  fitted  to  keep  up  a  cheerful  view  of  posterity  and  inher- 
itance generally,  notwithstanding  particular  disappointments — 
and  his  affection  for  Deronda  was  not  diminished  by  the  deep- 
lying  though  not  obtrusive  difference  in  their  notions  and 
tastes.  Perhaps  it  was  all  the  stronger;  acting  as  the  same 
sort  of  difference  does  between  a  man  and  a  woman  in  giving 
a  piquancy  to  the  attachment  which  subsists  in  spite  of  it.  Sir 
Hugo  did  not  think  unapprovingly  of  himself ;  but  he  looked 
at  men  and  society  from  a  liberal-menagerie  point  of  view,  and 
he  had  a  certain  pride  in  Deronda's  differing  from  him,  which, 
if  it  had  found  voice,  might  have   said :  "  You   see  this  fine 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  329 

young  fellow — not  such  as  you  see  every  day,  is  he  ? — he  be- 
longs to  me  in  a  sort  of  way ;  I  brought  him  up  from  a  child. 
But  you  would  not  ticket  him  off  easily.  He  has  notions  of 
his  own,  and  he's  as  far  as  the  poles  asunder  from  what  I  was 
at  his  age."  This  state  of  feeling  was  kept  up  by  the  mental 
balance  in  Deronda,  who  was  moved  by  an  affectionateness 
such  as  we  are  apt  to  call  feminine,  disposing  him  to  yield  in 
ordinary  details,  while  he  had  a  certain  inflexibility  of  judg- 
ment, an  independence  of  opinion,  held  to  be  rightfully  mas- 
culine. 

When  he  had  read  the  letter,  he  returned  it  without  speak- 
ing, inwardly  wincing  under  Lush's  mode  of  attributing  a  neu- 
tral usefulness  to  him  in  the  family  affairs. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Dan  ?  It  would  be  pleasant  enough  for 
you.  You  have  not  seen  the  place  for  a  good  many  years 
now,  and  you  might  have  a  famous  run  with  the  harriers  if 
you  went  down  next  week,"  said  Sir  Hugo. 

"  I  should  not  go  on  that  account,"  said  Deronda,  buttering 
his  bread  attentively.  He  had  an  objection  to  this  transparent 
kind  of  persuasiveness,  which  all  intelligent  animals  are  seen  to 
treat  with  indifference.  If  he  went  to  Diplow,  he  should  be 
doing  something  disagreeable  to  oblige  Sir  Hugo. 

^'  I  think  Lush's  notion  is  a  good  one.  And  it  would  be  a 
pity  to  lose  the  occasion." 

"  That  is  a  different  matter — if  you  think  ray  going  of  im- 
portance to  your  object,"  said  Deronda,  still  with  that  aloof- 
ness of  manner  which  implied  some  suppression.  He  knew 
that  the  baronet  had  set  his  heart  on  the  affair. 

"  Why,  you  will  see  the  fair  gambler,  the  Leubronn  Diana,  I 
shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Sir  Hugo,  gayly.  "  We  shall  have  to 
invite  her  to  the  Abbey,  when  they  are  married,  Louisa,"  he 
added,  turning  to  Lady  Mallinger,  as  if  she  too  had  read  the 
letter. 

"  I  can  not  conceive  whom  you  mean,"  said  Lady  Mallinger, 
who,  in  fact,  had  not  been  listening,  her  mind  having  been 
taken  up  with  her  first  sips  of  coffee,  the  objectionable  cuff  of 
her  sleeve,  and  the  necessity  of  carrying  Theresa  to  the  dentist 
—  innocent  and  partly  laudable  preoccupations,  as  the  gentle 
lady's  usually  were.     Should  her  appearance  be  inquired  after, 


330  PANIEL    DERONDA. 

let  it  be  said  that  she  had  reddish-blonde  hair  (the  hair  of  the 
period),  a  small  Roman  nose,  rather  prominent  blue  eyes  and 
delicate  eyelids,  with  a  figure  which  her  thinner  friends  called 
fat,  her  hands  showing  curves  and  dimples  like  a  magnified 
baby's. 

"  I  mean  that  Grandcourt  is  going  to  marry  the  girl  you  saw 
at  Leubronn  —  don't  you  remember  her? — the  Miss  Harleth 
who  used  to  play  at  roulette." 

"  Dear  me !     Is  that  a  good  match  for  him  ?" 

"  That  depends  on  the  sort  of  goodness  he  wants,"  said  Sir 
Hugo,  smiling.  ''  However,  she  and  her  friends  have  nothing, 
and  she  will  bring  him  expenses.  It's  a  good  match  for  my 
purposes,  because  if  I  am  willing  to  fork  out  a  sum  of  money, 
he  may  be  willing  to  give  up  his  chance  of  Diplow,  so  that 
we  shall  have  it  out  and  out,  and  when  I  die  you  will  have 
the  consolation  of  going  to  the  place  you  would  like  to  go  to, 
wherever  I  may  go." 

"I  wish  you  would  not  talk  of  dying  in  that  light  way, 
dear." 

"  It's  rather  a  heavy  way,  Lou,  for  I  shall  have  to  pay  a 
heavy  sum — forty  thousand,  at  least." 

"  But  why  are  we  to  invite  them  to  the  Abbey  ?"  said  Lady 
Mallinger.  "  I  do  not  like  women  who  gamble,  like  Lady 
Cragstone." 

"  Oh,  you  will  not  mind  her  for  a  week.  Besides,  she  is 
not  like  Lady  Cragstone  because  she  gambled  a  little,  any  more 
than  I  am  like  a  broker  because  I'm  a  Whig.  I  want  to  keep 
Grandcourt  in  good  humor,  and  to  let  him  see  plenty  of  this 
place,  that  he  may  think  the  less  of  Diplow.  I  don't  know 
yet  whether  I  shall  get  him  to  meet  me  in  this  matter.  And 
if  Dan  were  to  go  over  on  a  visit  there,  he  might  hold  out  the 
bait  to  him.  It  would  be  doing  me  a  great  service."  This 
was  meant  for  Deronda. 

"  Daniel  is  not  fond  of  Mr.  Grandcourt,  I  think,  is  he  ?"  said 
Lady  Mallinger,  looking  at  Deronda  inquiringly. 

"  There  is  no  avoiding  every  body  one  doesn't  happen  to  be 
fond  of,"  said  Deronda.  "  I  will  go  to  Diplow — I  don't  know 
that  I  have  any  thing  better  to  do — since  Sir  Hugo  wishes  it." 

"  That's  a  trump !"  said  Sir  Hugo,  well  pleased.     "  And  if 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  331 

you  don't  find  it  very  pleasant,  it's  so  much  experience.  Noth- 
ing used  to  come  amiss  to  me  when  I  was  young.  You  must 
see  men  and  manners." 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  have  seen  that  man,  and  something  of  his  man- 
ners too,"  said  Deronda. 

"  Not  ni(^  manners,  I  think,"  said  Lady  MaUinger. 

"  Well,  you  see  they  succeed  with  your  sex,"  said  Sir  Hugo, 
provokingly.  "  And  he-  was  an  uncommonly  good-looking  fel- 
low when  he  was  two  or  three  and  twenty — like  his  father. 
He  doesn't  take  after  his  father  in  marrying  the  heiress,  though. 
If  he  had  got  Miss  Arrowpoint  and  my  land  too,  confound 
him  !  he  would  have  had  a  fine  principality." 

Deronda,  in  anticipating  the  projected  visit,  felt  less  disincli- 
nation than  when  consenting  to  it.  The  drama  of  that  girl's 
marriage  did  interest  him.  What  he  had  heard  through  Lush 
of  her  having  run  away  from  the  suit  of  the  man  she  was  now 
going  to  take  as  a  husband  had  thrown  a  new  sort  of  light 
on  her  gambling ;  and  it  was  probably  the  transition  from  that 
fevered  worldliness  into  poverty  which  had  urged  her  accept- 
ance where  she  must  in  some  way  have  felt  repulsion.  AH 
this  implied  a  nature  liable  to  difficulty  and  struggle — elements 
of  life  which  had  a  predominant  attraction  for  his  sympathy, 
due,  perhaps,  to  his  early  pain  in  dwelling  on  the  conjectured 
story  of  his  own  existence.  Persons  attracted  him,  as  Hans 
Meyrick  had  done,  in  proportion  to  the  possibility  of  his  defend- 
ing them,  rescuing  them,  telling  upon  their  lives  with  some  sort 
of  redeeming  influence  ;  and  he  had  to  resist  an  inclination,  easi- 
ly accounted  for,  to  withdraw  coldly  from  the  fortunate.  But 
in  the  movement  which  had  led  him  to  redeem  Gwendolen's 
necklace  for  her,  and  which  was  at  work  in  him  still,  there  was 
something  beyond  his  habitual  compassionate  fervor  —  some- 
thing due  to  the  fascination  of  her  womanhood.  He  was  very 
open  to  that  sort  of  charm,  and  mingled  it  with  the  consciously 
Utopian  pictures  of  his  own  future ;  yet  any  one  able  to  trace 
the  folds  of  his  character  might  h^ve  conceived  that  he  would 
•be  more  likely  than  many  less  passionate  men  to  love  a  woman 
without  telling  her  of  it.  Sprinkle  food  before  a  delicate-eared 
bird:  there  is  nothing  he  would  more  willingly  take,  yet  he 
keeps  aloof,  because  of  his  sensibility  to  checks  which  to  you 


832  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

are  imperceptible.  And  one  man  differs  from  another,  as  we 
all  differ  from  the  Bosjesman,  in  a  sensibility  to  checks  that 
come  from  variety  of  needs,  spiritual  or  other.  It  seemed  to 
foreshadow  that  capability  of  reticence  in  Deronda  that  his  im- 
agination was  much  occupied  with  two  women,  to  neither  of 
whom  would  he  have  held  it  possible  that  he  should  ever  make 
love.  Hans  Meyrick  had  laughed  at. him  for  having  something 
of  the  knight  -  errant  in  his  disposition;  and  he  would  have 
found  his  proof  if  he  had  known  what  was  just  now  going  on 
in  Deronda's  mind  about  Mirah  and  Gwendolen. 

He  wrote  without  delay  to  announce  the  visit  to  Diplow, 
and  received  in  reply  a  polite  assurance  that  his  coming  would 
give  great  pleasure.  That  was  not  altogether  untrue.  .  Grand- 
court  thought  it  probable  that  the  visit  was  prompted  by  Sir 
Hugo's  desire  to  court  him  for  a  purpose  which  he  did  not 
make  up  his  mind  to  resist ;  and  it  was  not  a  disagreeable  idea 
to  him  that  this  line  fellow,  whom  he  believed  to  be  his  cousin 
under  the  rose,  would  witness,  perhaps  with  some  jealousy, 
Henleigh  Mallinger  Grandcourt  play  the  commanding  part  of 
betrothed  lover  to  a  splendid  girl  whom  the  cousin  had  already 
looked  at  with  admiration. 

Grandcourt  himself  was  not  jealous  of  any  thing  unless  it 
threatened  his  mastery — which  he  did  not  think  himself  likely 
to  lose. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


"  Surely  whoever  speaks  to  me  in  the  right  voice, 
him  or  her  I  shall  follow, 
As  the  water  follows  the  moon,  silently, 

with  fluid  steps  anywhere  around  the  globe." 

Walt  Whitman. 

"  Now  my  cousins  are  at  Diplow,"  said  Grandcourt,  "  will 
you  go  there  ? — to-morrow  ?  The  carriage  shall  come  for  Mrs. 
Davilow.  You  can  tell  me  what  you  would  like  done  in  the 
rooms.  Things  must  be  put  in  decent  order  while  we  are 
away  at  Ryelands.     And  to-morrow  is  the  only  day." 

He  was  sitting  sideways  on  a  sofa  in  the  drawing-room  at 
Offendene,  one  hand  and  elbow  .resting  on  the  back,  and  the 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  333 

other  hand  thrust  between  his  crossed  knees — in  the  attitude 
of  a  man  who  is  much  interested  in  watching  the  person  next 
to  him.  Gwendolen,  who  had  always  disliked  needle-work,  had 
taken  to  it  with  apparent  zeal  since  her  engagement,  and  now 
held  a  piece  of  white  embroidery  which  on  examination  would 
have  shown  many  false  stitches.  During  the  last  eight  or  nine 
days  their  hours  had  been  chiefly  spent  on  horseback,  but 
some  margin  had  always  been  left  for  this  more  difficult  sort 
of  companionship,  which,  however,  Gwendolen  had  not  found 
disagreeable.  She  was  very  well  satisfied  with  Gfandcourt. 
His  answers  to  her  lively  questions  about  what  he  had  seen 
and  done  in  his  life  bore  drawling  very  well.  From  the  first 
she  had  noticed  that  he  knew  what  to  say ;  and  she  was  con- 
stantly feeling  not  only  that  he  had  nothing  of  the  fool  in  his 
composition,  but  that  by  some  subtle  means  he  communicated 
to  her  the  impression  that  all  the  folly  lay  with  other  people, 
who  did  what  he  did  not  care  to  do.  A  man  who  seems  to 
have  been  able  to  command  the  best  has  a  sovereign  power  of 
depreciation.  Then  Grandcourt's  behavior  as  a  lover  had  hard- 
ly at  all  passed  the  limit  of  an  amorous  homage  which  was  in- 
obtrusive  as  a  wafted  odor  of  roses,  and  spent  all  its  effect  in 
a  gratified  vanity.  One  day,  indeed,  he  had  kissed,  not  her 
cheek,  but  her  neck  a  little  below  her  ear ;  and  Gwendolen, 
taken  by  surprise,  had  started  up  with  a  marked  agitation 
Avhich  made  him  rise  too  and  say,  "  I  beg  your  pardon — did  I 
annoy  you  ?"  "  Oh,  it  was  nothing,"  said  Gwendolen,  rather 
afraid  of  herself ;  "  only  I  can  not  bear — to  be  kissed  under  my 
ear."  She  sat  down  again  with  a  little  playful  laugh,  but  all 
the  while  she  felt  her  heart  beating  with  a  vague  fear :  she  was 
no  longer  at  liberty  to  flout  him  as  she  had  flouted  poor  Rex. 
Her  agitation  seemed  not  uncomplimentary,  and  he  had  been 
contented  not  to  transgress  again. 

To-day  a  slight  rain  hindered  riding ;  but  to  compensate,  a 
package  had  come  from  London,  and  Mrs.  Davilow  had  just 
left  the  room  after  bringing  in  for  admiration  the  beautiful 
things  (of  Grandcourt's  ordering)  which  lay  scattered  about  on 
the  tables.  Gwendolen  was  just  then  enjoying  the  scenery  of 
her  life.  She  let  her  hands  fall  on  her  lap,  and  said,  with  a 
pretty  air  of  perversity, 


334  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  Why  is  to-morrow  tlie  only  day  f 

"Because  the  next  day  is  the  first  with  the  hounds,"  said 
Grandcourt. 

"And  after  that?" 

"After  that  I  must  go  away  for  a  couple  of  days — it's  a 
bore  —  but  I  shall  go  one  day  and  come  back  the  next." 
Grandcourt  noticed  a  change  in  her  face ;  and  releasing  his 
hand  from  under  his  knees,  he  laid  it  on  hers,  and  said,  "  You 
object  to  my  going  away  ?" 

"  It  is  no  use  objecting,"  said  Gwendolen,  coldly.  She  was 
resisting  to  the  utmost  her  temptation  to  tell  him  that  she  sus- 
pected to  whom  he  was  going — and  the  temptation  to  make  a 
clean  breast,  speaking  without  restraint. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  said  Grandcourt,  enfolding  her  hand.  "  I  will 
put  off  going.  And  I  will  travel  at  night,  so  as  only  to  be 
away  one  day."  He  thought  that  he  knew  the  reason  of  what 
he  inwardly  called  this  bit  of  temper,  and  she  was  particularly 
fascinating  to  him  at  this  moment. 

"  Then  don't  put  off  going,  but  travel  at  night,"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, feeling  that  she  could  command  him,  and  finding  in  this 
peremptoriness  a  small  outlet  for  her  irritation. 

"  Then  you  will  go  to  Diplow  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  if  you  wish  it,"  said  Gwendolen,  in  a  high  tone  of 
careless  assent.  Her  concentration  in  other  feelings  had  real- 
ly hindered  her  from  taking  notice  that  her  hand  was  being 
held. 

"  How  you  treat  us  poor  devils  of  men !"  said  (grandcourt, 
lowering  his  tone.     "  We  are  always  getting  the  worst  of  it." 

"^re  you  ?"  said  Gwendolen,  in  a  tone  of  inquiry,  looking  at 
him  more  naively  than  usual.  She  longed  to  believe  this  com- 
monplace badinage  as  the  serious  truth  about  her  lover:  in 
that  case,  she,  too,  was  justified.  If  she  knew  every  thing,  Mrs. 
Glasher  would  appear  more  blamable  than  Grandcourt.  "^re 
you  always  getting  the  worst  ?" 

"  Yes.  Are  you  as  kind  to  me  as  I  am  to  you  ?"  said  Grand- 
court,  looking  into  her  eyes  with  his  narrow  gaze. 

Gwendolen  felt  herself  stricken.  She  was  conscious  of  hav- 
ing received  so  much,  that  her  sense  of  command  was  checked, 
and  sunk  away  in  the  perception  that,  look  around  her  as  she 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  335 

might,  she  could  not  turn  back :  it  was  as  if  she  had  consented 
to  mount  a  chariot  where  another  held  the  reins;  and  it  was 
not  in  her  nature  to  leap  out  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  She 
had  not  consented  in  ignorance,  and  all  she  could  say  now 
would  be  a  confession  that  she  had  not  been  ignorant.  Her 
right  to  explanation  was  gone.  All  she  had  to  do  now  was 
to  adjust  herself,  so  that  the  spikes  of  that  unwilling  penance 
which  conscience  imposed  should  not  gall  her.  With  a  sort 
of  mental  shiver,  she  resolutely  changed  her  mental  attitude. 
There  had  been  a  little  pause,  during  which  she  had  not  turned 
away  her  eyes ;  and  with  a  sudden  break  into  a  smile,  she  said, 

"  K  I  were  as  kind  to  you  as  you  are  to  me,  that  would  spoil 
your  generosity :  it  would  no  longer  be  as  great  as  it  could  be 
— and  it  is  that  now," 

"  Then  I  am  not  to  ask  for  one  kiss,"  said  Grandcourt,  con- 
tented to  pay  a  large  price  for  this  new  kind  of  love-making, 
which  introduced  marriage  by  the  finest  contrast. 

"  Not  one !"  said  Gwendolen,  getting  saucy,  and  nodding  at 
him  defiantly. 

He  lifted  her  little  left  hand  to  his  lips,  and  then  released  it 
respectfully.  Clearly,  it  was  faint  praise  to  say  of  him  that  he 
was  not  disgusting:  he  was  almost  charming;  and  she  felt  at 
this  moment  that  it  was  not  likely  she  could  ever  have  loved 
another  man  better  than  this  one.  His  reticence  gave  her  some 
inexplicable,  delightful  consciousness. 

"  Apropos,"  she  said,  taking  up  her  work  again,  "  is  there 
any  one  besides  Captain  and  Mrs.  Torrington  at  Diplow? — or 
do  you  leave  them  tete-a-tete?  I  suppose  he  converses  in  ci- 
gars, and  she  answers  with  her  chignon." 

"  She  has  a  sister  with  her,"  said  Grandcourt,  with  his  shad- 
ow of  a  smile,  "  and  there  are  two  men  besides — one  of  them 
you  know,  I  believe." 

"Ah,  then,  Thave  a  poor  opinion  of  him,"  said  Gwendolen, 
shaking  her  head. 

"  You  saw  him  at  Leubronn — young  Deronda — a  young  fel- 
low with  the  Mallingers." 

Gwendolen  felt  as  if  her  heart  were  making  a  sudden  gam- 
bol, and  her  fingers,  which  tried  to  keep  a  firm  hold  on  her 
work,  got  cold. 


336  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"I  never  spoke  to  him,"  she  said,  dreading  any  discernible 
change  in  herself.     "  Is  he  not  disagreeable  ?" 

"  No,  not  particularly,"  said  Grandcourt,  in  his  most  languid 
way.  "  He  thinks  a  little  too  much  of  himself..  I  thought  he 
had  been  introduced  to  you." 

"  No.  Some  one  told  me  his  name  the  evening  before"  I 
came  away.     That  was  all.     What  is  he  ?" 

"A  sort  of  ward  of  Sir  Hugo  Mallinger's.  Nothing  of  any 
consequence." 

"  Oh,  poor  creature !  How  very  unpleasant  for  him  !"  said 
Gwendolen,  speaking  from  the  lip,  and  not  meaning  any  sar- 
casm. "  I  wonder  if  it  has  left  off  raining,"  she  added,  rising 
and  going  to  look  out  of  the  window. 

Happily,  it  did  not  rain  the  next  day,  and  Gwendolen  rode 
to  Diplow  on  Criterion,  as  she  had  done  on  that  former  day 
when  she  returned  with  her  mother  in  the  carriage.  She  al- 
ways felt  the  more  daring  for  being  in  her  riding-dress ;  be- 
sides having  the  agreeable  belief  that  she  looked  as  well  as  pos- 
sible in  it — a  sustaining  consciousness  in  any  meeting  which 
seems  formidable.  Her  anger  toward  Deronda  had  changed 
into  a  superstitious  dread  —  due,  perhaps,  to  the  coercion  he 
had  exercised  over  her  thought — lest  that  first  interference  of 
his  in  her  life  might  foreshadow  some  future  influence.  It  is 
of  such  stuff  that  superstitions  are  commonly  made :  an  in- 
tense feeling  about  ourselves  which  makes  the  evening  star 
shine  at  us  with  a  threat,  and  the  blessing  of  a  beggar  encour- 
age us.  And  superstitions  carry  consequences  which  often  ver- 
ify their  hope  or  their  foreboding. 

The  time  before  luncheon  was  taken  up  for  Gwendolen  by 
going  over  the  rooms  with  Mrs.  Torrington  and  Mrs.  Davilow ; 
and  she  thought  it  likely  that  if  she  saw  Deronda,  there  would 
hardly  be  need  for  more  than  a  bow  between  them.  She 
meant  to  notice  him  as  little  as  possible. 

And,  after  all,  she  found  herself  under  an  inward  compulsion 
too  strong  for  her  pride.  From  the  first  moment  of  their  be- 
ing in  the  room  together,  she  seemed  to  herself  to  be  doing 
nothing  but  noticing  him :  every  thing  else  was  automatic  per- 
formance of  an  habitual  part. 

When  he  took  his  place  at  lunch,  Grandcourt  had  said,  "  De- 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  337 

ronda,  Miss  Harleth  tells  me  you  were  not  introduced  to  her  at 
Leubronn  ?" 

"Miss  Harleth  hardly  remembers  me,  I  imagine,"  said  De- 
ronda,  looking  at  her  quite  simply,  as  they  bowed.  "  She  was 
intensely  occupied  when  I  saw  her." 

Now,  did  he  suppose  that  she  had  not  suspected  him  of  be- 
ing the  person  who  redeemed  her  necklace  ? 

"  On  the  contrary.  I  remember  you  very  well,"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, feeling  rather  nervous,  but  governing  herself  and  look- 
ing at  him  in  return  with  new  examination.  "  You  did  not  ap- 
prove of  my  playing  at  roulette." 

"How  did  you  come  to  that  conclusion?"  said  Deronda, 
gravely. 

"Oh,  you  cast  an  evil  eye  on  my  play,"  said  Gwendolen, 
with  a  turn  of  her  head  and  a  smile.  "  I  began  to  lose  as  soon 
as  you  came  to  look  on.     I  had  always  been  winning  till  then." 

"Roulette  in  such  a  kennel  as  Leubronn  is  a  horrid  bore," 
said  Grandcourt. 

"/  found  it  a  bore  when  I  began  to  lose,"  said  Gwendolen. 
Her  face  was  turned  toward  Grandcourt  as  she  smiled  and 
spoke,  but  she  gave  a  sidelong  glance  at  Deronda,  and  saw  his 
eyes  fixed  on  her  with  a  look  so  gravely  penetrating  that  it 
had  a  keener  edge  for  her  than  his  ironical  smile  at  her  losses 
— a  keener  edge  than  Klesmer's  judgment.  She  wheeled  her 
neck  round  as  if  she  wanted  to  listen  to  what  was  being  said 
by  the  rest,  while  she  was  only  thinking  of  Deronda.  His 
face  had  that  disturbing  kind  of  form  and  expression  which 
threatens  to  affect  opinion — as  if  one's  standard  were  somehow 
wrong.  (Who  has  not  seen  men  with  faces  of  this  corrective 
power  till  they  frustrated  it  by  speech  or  action  ?)  His  voice, 
heard  now  for  the  first  time,  was  to  Grandcourt's  toneless 
drawl,  which  had  been  in  her  ears  every  day,  as  the  deep  notes 
of  a  violoncello  to  the  broken  discourse  of  poultry  and  other 
laay  gentry  in  the  afternoon  sunshine.  Grandcourt,  she  in- 
wardly conjectured,  was  perhaps  right  in  saying  that  Deronda 
thought  too  much  of  himself — a  favorite  way  of  explaining  a 
superiority  that  humiliates.  However,  the  talk  turned  on  the 
rinderpest  and  Jamaica,  and  no  more  was  said  about  roulette. 
Grandcourt  held  that  the  Jamaican,  negro  was  a  beastly  sort  of 

Vol.  I.— 15 


338  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Baptist  Caliban ;  Deronda  said  lie  had  always  felt  a  little,  with 
Caliban,  who  naturally  had  his  own  point  of  view  and  could 
sing  a  good  song ;  Mrs.  Davilow  observed  that  her  father  had 
an  estate  in  Barbados,  but  that  she  herself  had  never  been  in 
the  West  Indies ;  Mrs.  Torrington  was  sure  she  should  never 
sleep  in  her  bed  if  she  lived  among  blacks ;  her  husband  cor- 
rected her  by  saying  that  the  blacks  would  be  manageable 
enough  if  it  were  not  for  the  half-breeds;  and  Deronda  re- 
marked that  the  whites  had  to  thank  themselves  for  the  half- 
breeds. 

While  this  polite  pea -shooting  was  going  on,  Gwendolen 
trifled  with  her  jelly,  and  looked  at  every  speaker  in  turn  that 
she  might  feel  at  ease  in  looking  at  Deronda. 

"  I  wonder  what  he  thinks  of  me  really  ?  He  must  have 
felt  interested  in  me,  else  he  would  not  have  sent  me  my  neck- 
lace. I  wonder  what  he  thinks  of  my  marriage?  What  no- 
tions has  he  to  make  him  so  grave  about  things?  AVhy  is  he 
come  to  Diplow  ?" 

These  questions  ran  in  her  mind  as  the  voice  of  an  uneasy 
longing  to  be  judged  by  Deronda  with  unmixed  admiration — 
a  longing  which  had  had  its  seed  in  her  first  resentment  at  his 
critical  glance.  Why  did  she  care  so  much  about  the  opinion 
of  this  man,  who  was  "nothing  of  any  consequence?"  She 
had  no  time  to  find  the  reason — she  was  too  much  engaged 
in  caring.  In  the  drawing-room,  when  something  had  called 
Grandcourt  away,  she  went  quite  unpremeditatedly  up  to  De- 
ronda, who  was  standing  at  a  table  apart,  turning  over  some 
prints,  and  said  to  him, 

"  Shall  you  hunt  to-morrow,  Mr.  Deronda?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so." 

"  You  don't  object  to  hunting,  then  ?" 

"  I  find  excuses  for  it.  It  is  a  sin  I  am  inclined  to — when  I 
can't  get  boating  or  cricketing." 

"Do  you  object  to  my  hunting?"  said  Gwendolen,  with  a 
saucy  movement  of  the  chin. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  object  to  any  thing  you  choose  to  do." 

"  You  thought  you  had  a  right  to  object  to  my  gambling," 
persisted  Gwendolen. 

"  I  was  sorry  for  it.     I  am  not  aware  that  I  told  you  of  my 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  339 

objection,"  said  Deronda,  with  his  usual  directness  of  gaze— a 
lafge-eyed  gravity,  innocent  of  any  intention.  His  eyes  had 
a  peculiarity  which  has  drawn  many  men  into  trouble ;  they 
were  of  a  dark  yet  mild  intensity,  which  seemed  to  express 
a  special  interest  in  every  one  on  whom  he  fixed  them,  and 
might  easily  help  to  bring  on  him  those  claims  which  ardently 
sympathetic  people  are  often  creating  in  the  minds  of  those 
who  need  help.  In  mendicant  fashion,  we  make  the  goodness 
of  others  a  reason  for  exorbitant  demands  on  them.  That  sort 
of  effect  was  penetrating  Gwendolen. 

"  You  hindered  me  from  gambling  again,^'  she  answered. 
But  she  had  no  sooner  spoken  than  she  blushed  over  face  and 
neck ;  and  Deronda  blushed  too,  conscious  that  in  the  little  af- 
fair of  the  necklace  he  had  taken  a  questionable  freedom. 

It  was  impossible  to  speak  further ;  and  she  turned  away  to 
a  window,  feeling  that  she  had  stupidly  said  what  she  had  not 
meant  to  say,  and  yet  being  rather  happy  that  she  had  plunged 
into  this  mutual  understanding.  Deronda  also  did  not  dislike 
it.  Gwendolen  seemed  more  decidedly  attractive  than  before ; 
and  certainly  there  had  been  changes  going  on  within  her 
since  that  time  at  Leubronn :  the  struggle  of  mind  attending  a 
conscious  error  had  wakened  something  like  a  new  soul,  which 
had  better,  but  also  worse,  possibilities  than  her  former  poise 
of  crude  self-confidence.  Among  the  forces  she  had  come  to 
dread  was  something  within  her  that  troubled  satisfaction. 

That  evening  Mrs.  Davilow  said,  "  Was  it  really  so,  or  only 
a  joke  of  yours,  about  Mr.  Deronda's  spoiling  your  play,  Gwen  ?" 

Her  curiosity  had  been  excited,  and  she  could  venture  to  ask 
a  question  that  did  not  concern  Mr.  Grandcourt. 

"  Oh,  it  merely  happened  that  he  was  looking  on  when  I  be- 
gan to  lose,"  said  Gwendolen,  carelessly.     "  I  noticed  him." 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  that :  he  is  a  striking  young  man.  He 
puts  me  in  mind  of  Italian  paintings.  One  would  guess,  with- 
out being  told,  that  there  was  foreign  blood  in  his  veins." 

"  Is  there  ?"  said  Gwendolen. 

^'  Mrs.  Torrington  says  so.  I  asked  particularly  who  he  was, 
and  she  told  me  that  his  mother  was  some  foreigner  of  high 
rank." 


340  DANIEL   DERONDA. 

"His  mother?"  said  Gwendolen,  rather  sharply.  "Then 
who  was  his  father  ?" 

"  Well — every  one  says  he  is  the  son  of  Sir  Hugo  Mallinger, 
who  brought  him  up  ;  though  he  passes  for  a  ward.  She  says, 
if  Sir  Hugo  Mallinger  could  have  done  as  he  liked  with  his  es- 
tates, he  would  have  left  them  to  this  Mr.  Deronda,  since  he 
has  no  legitimate  son." 

Gwendolen  was  silent;  but  her  mother  observed  so  marked 
an  effect  in  her  face  that  she  was  angry  with  herself  for  hav- 
ing repeated  Mrs.  Torrington's  gossip.  It  seemed,  on  reflection, 
unsuited  to  the.  ear  of  her  daughter,  for  whom  Mrs.  Davilow 
disliked  what  is  called  knowledge  of  the  world;  and  indeed 
she  wished  that  she  herself  had  not  had  any  of  it  thrust  upon 
her. 

An  image  which  had  immediately  arisen  in  Gwendolen's 
mind  was  that  of  the  unknown  mother — no  doubt  a  dark-eyed 
woman — probably  sad.  Hardly  any  face  could  be  less  like 
Deronda's  than  that  represented  as  Sir  Hugo's  in  a  crayon 
portrait  at  Diplow.  A  dark-eyed,  beautiful  woman,  no  longer 
young,  had  become  "  stuff  o'  the  conscience  "  to  Gwendolen. 

That  night  when  she  had  got  into  her  little  bed,  and  only  a 
dim  light  was  burning,  she  said, 

"  Mamma,  have  men  generally  childrefl  before  they  are  mar- 
ried?" 

"  No,  dear,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Davilow.  "  Why  do  you  ask  such 
a  question  ?"     (But  she  began  to  think  that  she  saw  the  why.) 

"  K  it  were  so,  I  ought  to  know,"  said  Gwendolen,  with  some 
indignation. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  what  I  said  about  Mr.  Deronda  and 
Sir  Hugo  Mallinger.     That  is  a  very  unusual  case,  dear." 

"Does  Lady  Mallinger  know?" 

"  She  knows  enough  to  satisfy  her.  That  is  quite  clear,  be- 
cause Mr.  Deronda  has  lived  with  them." 

"  And  people  think  no  worse  of  him  ?" 

"  Well,  of  course  he  is  under  some  disadvantage :  it  is  not 
as  if  he  were  Lady  Mallinger's  son.  He  does  not  inherit  the 
property,  and  he  is  not  of  any  consequence  in  the  world.  But 
people  are  not  obliged  to  know  any  thing  about  his  birjth.  You 
see,  he  is  very  well  received." 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  341 

"  I  wonder  whether  he  knows  about  it ;  and  whether  he  is 
angry  with  his  father?" 

"  My  dear  child,  why  should  you  think  of  that  ?" 

"Why?"  said  Gwendolen,  impetuously,  sitting  up  in  her 
bed.  "  Haven't'  children  reason  to  be  angry  with  their  parents  ? 
How  can  they  help  their  parents  marrying  or  not  marrying  ?" 

But  a  consciousness  rushed  upon  her  which  made  her  fall 
back  again  on  her  pillow.  It  was  not  only  what  she  would 
have  felt  months  before — that  she  might  seem  to  be  reproach- 
ing her  mother  for  that  second  mamage  of  hers — what  she 
chiefly  felt  now  was,  that  she  had  been  led  on  to  a  condemna- 
tion which  seemed  to  make  her  own  marriage  a  forbidden  thing. 

There  was  no  further  talk,  and  till  sleep  came  over  her 
Gwendolen  lay  struggling  with  the  reasons  against  that  mar- 
riage—  reasons  which  pressed  upon  her  newly,  now  that  they 
were  unexpectedly  mirrored  in  the  story  of  a  man  whose  slight 
relations  with  her  had,  by  some  hidden  affinity,  bitten  them- 
selves into  the  most  permanent  layers  of  feeling.  It  was  char- 
acteristic that,  with  all  her  debating,  she  was  never  troubled  by 
the  question  whether  the  indefensibleness  of  her  marriage  did 
not  include  the  fact  that  she  had  accepted  Grandcourt  solely  as 
the  man  whohi  it  was  convenient  for  her  to  marry,  not  in  the 
least  as  one  to  whom  she  would  be  binding  herself  in  duty. 
Gwendolen's  ideas  were  pitiably  crude;  but  many  grand  diffi- 
culties of  life  are  apt  to  force  themselves  on  us  in  our  cnidity. 
And  to  judge  wisely,  I  suppose,  we  must  know  how  things  ap- 
pear to  the  unwise ;  that  kind  of  appearance  making  the  larger 
part  of  the  world's  history. 

In  the  morning  there  was  a  double  excitement  for  her.  She 
was  going  to  hunt,  from  which  scruples  about  propriety  had 
threatened  to  hinder  her,  until  it  was  found  that  Mrs.  Torring- 
ton  was  horsewoman  enough  to  accompany  her  :  going  to  hunt 
for  the  first  time  since  her  escapade  with  Rex ;  and  she  was 
going  again  to  see  Deronda,  in  whom,  since  last  night,  her  in- 
terest had  so  gathered  that  she  expected,  as  people  do  about 
revealed  celebrities,  to  see  something  in  his  appearance  which 
she  had  missed  before.  What  was  he  going  to  be  ?  What 
sort  of  life  had  he  before  him — he  being  nothing  of  any  con- 
sequence ?    And  with  only  a  little  difference  in  events  he  might 


342  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

have  been  as  important  as  Grandcourt,  nay — her  imagination 
inevitably  went  in  that  direction — might  have  held  the  very 
estates  which  Grandcourt  was  to  have.  But  now,  Deronda 
would  probably  some  day  see  her  mistress  of  the  Abbey  at 
Topping,  see  her  bearing  the  title  which  would  have  been  hie 
own  wife's.  These  obvious,  futile  thoughts  of  what  might 
have  been,  made  a  new  epoch  for  Gwendolen.  She,  whose  un- 
questioning habit  it  had  been  to  take  the  best  that  came  to  her 
for  less  than  her  own  claim,  had  now  to  see  the  position  which 
tempted  her  in  a  new  light,  as  a  hard,  unfair  exclusion  of  oth- 
ers. What  she  had  now  heard  about  Deronda  seemed  to  her 
imagination  to  throw  him  into  one  group  with  Mrs.  Glasher 
and  her  children ;  before  whom  she  felt  herself  in  an  attitude " 
of  apology — she  who  had  hitherto  been  surrounded  by  a  group 
that  in  her  opinion  had  need  be  apologetic  to  her.  Perhaps 
Deronda  himself  was  thinking  of  these  things.  Could  he 
know  of  Mrs.  Glasher  ?  If  he  knew  that  she  knew,  he  would 
despise  her;  but  he  could  have  no  such  knowledge.  Would 
he,  without  that,  despise  her  for  marrying  Grandcourt?  His 
possible  judgment  of  her  actions  was  telling  on  her  as  impor- 
tunately as  Klesmer's  judgment  of  her  powers ;  but  she  found 
larger  room  for  resistance  to  a  disapproval  of  her'  mamage,  be- 
cause it  is  easier  to  make  our  conduct  seem  justifiable  to  our- 
selves than  to  make  our  ability  strike  others.  "  How  can  I 
help  it  ?"  is  not  our  favorite  apology  for  incompetence.  But 
Gwendolen  felt  some  strength  in  saying, 

"  How  can  I  help  what  other  people  have  done  ?  Things 
would  not  come  right  if  I  were  to  turn  round  now  and  declare 
that  I  would  not  marry  Mr.  Grandcourt."  And  such  turning- 
round  was  out  of  the  question.  The  horses  in  the  chariot  she 
had  mounted  were  going  at  full  speed. 

This  mood  of  youthful,  elated  desperation  had  a  tidal  recur- 
rence. She  could  dare  any  thing  that  lay  before  her  sooner 
than  she  could  choose  to  go  backward  into  humiliation ;  and  it 
was  even  soothing  to  think  that  there  would  now  be  as  much 
ill-doing  in  the  one  as  in  the  other.  But  the  immediate  de- 
lightful fact  was  the  hunt,  where  she  would  see  Deronda,  and 
where  he  would  see  her ;  for  always  lurking  ready  to  obtrude 
before  other  thoughts  about  him  was  the  impression  that  he 


BOOK    IV.^GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  343 

was  very  much  interested  in  her.  But  to-day  she  was  resolved 
not  to  repeat  her  folly  of  yesterday,  as  if  she  were  anxious  to 
say  any  thing  to  him.  Indeed,  the  hunt  would  be  too  absorb- 
ing. 

And  so  it  was  for  a  long  while.  Deronda  was  there,  and 
within  her  sight  very  often ;  but  this  only  added  to  the  stim- 
ulus of  a  pleasure  which  Gwendolen  had  only  once  before 
tasted,  and  which  seemed  likely  always  to  give  a  delight  inde- 
pendent of  any  crosses,  except  such  as  took  away  the  chance 
of  riding.  No  accident  happened  to  throw  them  together ;  the 
run  took  them  within  convenient  reach  of  home,  and  in  the 
agreeable  sombreness  of  the  gray  November  afternoon,  with  a 
long  stratum  of  yellow  light  in  the  west,  Gwendolen  was  re- 
turning with  the  company  from  Diplow,  who  were  attending 
her  on  the  way  to  Offendene.  Now  that  the  sense  of  glorious 
excitement  was  over  and  gone,  she  was  getting  irritably  disap- 
pointed that  she  had  had  no  opportunity  of  speaking  to  Deron- 
da, whom  she  would  not  see  again,  since  he  was  to  go  away  in 
a  couple  of  days.  What  was  she  going  to  say  ?  That  was  not 
quite  certain.  She  wanted  to  speak  to  him.  Grandcourt  was 
by  her  side ;  Mrs.  Torrington,  her  husband,  and  another  gentle- 
man in  advance ;  and  Deronda's  horse  she  could  hear  behind. 
The  wish  to  speak  to  him  and  have  him  speaking  to  her  was 
becoming  imperious  ;  and  there  was  no  chance  of  it,  unless  she 
simply  asserted  her  will  and  defied  every  thing.  Where  the 
order  of  things  could  give  way  to  Miss  Gwendolen,  it  must  be 
made  to  do  so.  They  had  lately  emerged  from  a  wood  of 
pines  and  beeches,  where  the  twilight  stillness  had  a  repressing 
effect,  which  increased  her  impatience.  The  horse-hoofs  again 
heard  behind  at  some  little  distance  were  a  growing  irritation. 
She  reined  in  her  horse  and  looked  behind  her;  Grandcourt, 
after  a  few  paces,  also  paused ;  but  she,  waving  her  whip  and 
nodding  sideways  with  playful  imperiousness,  said,  "  Go  on !  I 
want  to  speak  to  Mr.  Deronda." 

Grandcourt  hesitated;  but  that  he  would  have  done  after 
any  proposition.  It  was  an  awkward  situation  for  him.  No 
gentleman,  before  marriage,  could  give  the  emphasis  of  refusal 
to  a  command  delivered  in  this  playful  way.  He  rode  on  slow- 
ly, and  she  waited  till  Deronda  came  up.     He  looked  at  her 


344  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

with  tacit  inquiry,  and  slie  said  at  once,  letting  her  horse  go 
along-side  of  his, 

"  Mr.  Deronda,  you  must  enlighten  my  ignorance.  I  want 
to  know  why  you  thought  it  wrong  for  me  to  gamble.'  Is  it 
because  I  am  a  woman  ?" 

"Not  altogether;  but  I  regretted  it  the  more  because  you 
were  a  woman,"  said  Deronda,  with  an  irrepressible  smile.  Ap- 
parently it  must  be  understood  between  them  now  that  it  was 
he  who  sent  the  necklace.  "I  think  it  would.be  better  for 
men  not  to  gamble.  It  is  a  besotting  kind  of  taste,  likely  to 
turn  into  a  disease.  And,  besides,  there  is  something  revolt- 
ing to  me  in  raking  a  heap  of  money  together,  and  internally 
chuckling  over  it,  when  others  are  feeling  the  loss  of  it.  I 
should  even  call  it  base,  if  it  were  more  than  an  exceptional 
lapse.  There  are  enough  inevitable  turns  of  fortune  which 
force  us  to  see  that  our  gain  is  another's  loss — that  is  one  of 
the  ugly  aspects  of  life.  One  would  like  to  reduce  it  as  much 
as  one  could,  not  get  amusement  out  of  exaggerating  it."  De- 
ronda's  voice  had  gathered  some  indignation  while  he  was 
speaking. 

"  But  you  do  admit  that  we  can't  help  things,"  said  Gwen- 
dolen, with  a  drop  in  her  tone.  The  answer  had  not  been  any 
thing  like  what  she  had  expected.  "  I  mean  that  things  are  so 
in  spite  of  us ;  we  can't  always  help  it  that  our  gain  is  anoth- 
er's loss," 

"  Clearly.    Because  of  that,  we  should  help  it  where  we  can." 

Gwendolen,  biting  her  lip  inside,  paused  a  moment,  and  then 
forcing  herself  to  speak  with  an  air  of  playfulness  again,  said, 

"But  why  should  you  regret  it  more  because  I  am  a  wom- 
an?" 

"  Perhaps  because  we  need  that  you  should  be  better  than 
we  are." 

"  But  suppose  we  need  that  men  should  be  better  than  we 
are,"  said  Gwendolen,  with  a  little  air  of  "  check !" 

"That  is  rather  a  difficulty,"  said  Deronda,  smiling.  "I 
suppose  I  should  have  said,  we  each  of  us  think  it  would  be 
better  for  the  other  to  be  good." 

"You  see,  I  needed  you  to  be  better  than  I  was — and  you 
thought  so,"  said  Gwendolen,  nodding  and  laughing,  while  she 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  345 

put  her  horse  forward  and  joined  Grandcourt,  who  made  no 
observation. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  know  what  I  had  to  say  to  Mr.  Deronda  ?'* 
said  Gwendolen,  whose  own  pride  required  her  to  account  for 
her  conduct. 

"A — no,"  said  Grandcourt,  coldly. 

"  Now  that  is  the  first  impolite  word  you  have  spoken — that 
you  don't  wish  to  hear  what  I  had  to  say,"  said  Gwendolen, 
playing  at  a  pout. 

"  I  wish  to  hear  what  you  say  to  me — not  to  other  men," 
said  Grandcourt. 

"  Then  you  wish  to  hear  this.  I  wanted  to  make  him  tell 
me  why  he  objected  to  my  gambling,  and  he  gave  me  a  little 
sermon." 

"  Yes ;  but  excuse  me  the  sermon."  If  Gwendolen  imagined 
that  Grandcourt  cared  about  her  speaking  to  Deronda,  he  wish- 
ed her  to  understand  that  she  was  mistaken.  But  he  was  not 
fond  of  being  told  to  ride  on.  She  saw  he  was  piqued,  but  did 
not  mind.  She  had  accomplished  her  object  of  speaking  again 
to  Deronda  before  he  raised  his  hat  and  turned  with  the  rest 
toward  Diplow,  while  her  lover  attended  her  to  Offendene, 
where  he  was  to  bid  farewell  before  a  whole  day's  absence  on 
the  unspecified  journey.  Grandcourt  had  spoken  truth  in  call- 
ing the  journey  a  bore :  he  was  going  by  train  to  Gadsmere. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  Nc^  penitence  and  no  confessional : 
No  priest  ordains  it,  yet  they're  forced  to  sit 
Amid  deep  ashes  of  their  vanished  years." 

Imagine  a  rambling,  patchy  house,  the  best  part  built  of 
gray  stone,  and  red-tiled ;  a  round  tower  jutting  at  one  of  the 
corners,  the  mellow  darkness  of  its  conical  roof  surmounted  by 
a  weather-cock  making  an  agreeable  object  either  amidst  the 
gleams  and  greenth  of  summer  or  the  low-hanging  clouds  and 
snowy  branches  of  winter ;  the  grounds  shady  with  spreading 
trees;  a  great  cedar  flourishing  on  one  side,  backward  some 

16* 


348  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Scotch  firs  on  a  broten  bank  where  the  roots  hung  naked,  and 
beyond,  a  rookery;  on  the  other  side  a  pool  overhung  with 
bushes,  where  the  water-fowl  fluttered  and  screamed ;  all  around, 
a  vast  meadow,  which  might  be  called  a  park,  bordered  by  an 
old  plantation  and  guarded  by  stone  lodges  which  looked  like 
little  prisons.  Outside  the  gate  the  country,  once  entirely  rural 
and  lovely,  now  black  with  coal-mines,  was  chiefly  peopled  by 
men  and  brethren  with  candles  stuck  in  their  hats,  and  with  a 
diabolic  complexion  which  laid  them  peculiarly  open  to  sus- 
picion in  the  eyes  of  the  children  at  Gadsmere — Mrs.  Glasher's 
four  beautiful  children,  who  had  dwelt  there  for  about  three 
years.  Now,  in  November,  when  the  flower-beds  were  empty, 
the  trees  leafless,  and  the  pool  blackly  shivering,  one  might 
have  said  that  the  place  was  sombrely  in  keeping  with  the 
black  roads  and  black  mounds  which  seemed  to  put  the  district 
in  mourning — except  when  the  children  were  playing  on  the 
gravel,  with  the  dogs  for  their  companions.  But  Mrs.  Glasher, 
under  her  present  circumstances,  liked  Gadsmere  as  well  as  she 
would  have  liked  any  other  abode.  The  complete  seclusion  of 
the  place,  which  the  un attractiveness  of  the  country  secured, 
was  exactly  to  her  taste.  When  she  drove  her  two  ponies  with 
a  wagonet  full  of  children,  there  were  no  gentry  in  carriages 
to  be  met,  only  men  of  business  in  gigs.  At  church  there  were 
no  eyes  she  cared  to  avoid,  for  the  curate's  wife  and  the  curate 
himself  were  either  ignorant  of  any  thing  to  her  disadvantage, 
or  ignored  it.  To  them  she  was  simply  a  widow,  lady,  the  ten- 
ant of  Gadsmere ;  and  the  name  of  Grandcourt  was  of  little  in- 
terest in  that  district  compared  with  the  names  of  Fletcher  and 
Gawcome,  the  lessees  of  the  collieries. 

It  was  fully  ten  year^  since  the  elopement  of  an  Irish  officer's 
beautiful  wife  with  young  Grandcourt,  and  a  consequent  duel, 
where  the  bullets  wounded  the  air  only,  had  made  some  little 
noise.  Most  of  those  who  remembered  the  affair  now  wonder- 
ed what  had  become  of  that  Mrs.  Glasher  whose  beauty  and 
brilliancy  had  made  her  rather  conspicuous  to  them  in  foreign 
places,  where  she  was  known  to  be  living  with  young  Grand- 
court. 

That  he  should  have  disentangled  himself  from  that  connec- 
tion seemed  only  natural  and  desirable.      As  to  her,  it  was 


BOOK  IV. — -GWENDOLEX  GETS  HER  CHOICE.       347 

thought  that  a  woman  who  was  understood  to.  have  forsaken 
her  child  along  with  her  husband  had  probably  sunk  lower. 
Grandcourt  had,  of  course,  got  weary  of  her.  He  was  much 
given  to  the  pursuit  of  women ;  but  a  man  in  his  position 
would  by  this  time  desire  to  make  a  suitable  marriage  with  the 
fair  vouno;  daug-hter  of  a  noble  house.  No  one  talked  of  Mrs. 
Glasher  now,  any  more  than  people  talked  of  the  victim  in  a 
trial  for  manslaughter  ten  years  before :  she  was  a  lost  vessel 
after  whom  nobody  would  send  out  an  expedition  of  search; 
but  Grandcourt  was  seen  in  harbor  with  his  colors  flying,  regis- 
tered as  sea-worthy  as  ever. 

Yet,  in  fact,  Grandcourt  had  never  disentangled  himself  from 
Mrs.  Glasher.  His  passion  for  her  had  been  the  strongest  and 
most  lasting  he  had  ever  known ;  and  though  it  was  now  as 
dead  as  the  music  of  a  cracked  flute,  it  had  left  a  certain  dull 
disposedness,  which,  on  the  death  of  her  husband,  three  years 
before,  had  prompted  in  him  a  vacillating  notion  of  marrying 
her,  in  accordance  with  the  understanding  often  expressed  be- 
tween them  during  the  days  of  his  first  ardor.  At  that  early 
time  Grandcourt  would  willingly  have  paid  for  the  freedom  to 
be  won  by  a  divorce ;  but  the  husband  would  not  oblige  him, 
not  wanting  to  be  married  again  himself,  and  not  wishing  to 
have  his  domestic  habits  printed  in  evidence. 

The  altered  poise  which  the  years  had  brought  in  Mrs. 
Glasher  was  just  the  reverse.  At  first,  she  was  comparative- 
ly careless  about  the  possibility  of  marriage.  It  was  enough 
that  she  had  escaped  from  a  disagreeable  husband  and  found  a 
sort  of  bliss  with  a  lover  who  had  completely  fascinated  her — 
young,  handsome,  amorous,  and  living  in  the  best  style,  with 
equipage  and  conversation  en  suite,  of  the  kind  to  be  expect- 
ed in  young  men  of  fortune  who  have  seen  every  thing.  She 
was  an  impassioned,  vivacious  woman,  fond  of  adoration,  exas- 
perated by  five  years  of  marital  rudeness ;  and  the  sense  of  re- 
lease was  so  strong  upon  her  that  it  stilled  anxiety  for  more 
than  she  actually  enjoyed.  An  equivocal  position  was  of  no 
importance  to  her  then ;  she  had  no  envy  for  the  honors  of  a 
dull,  disregarded  wife :  the  one  spot  which  spoiled  her  vision 
of  her  new  pleasant  world  was  the  sense  that  she  had  left  her 
three-year-old  boy,  who  died  two  years  afterward,  and  whose 


348     .  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

first  tones,  saying  "  Mamma,"  retained  a  difference  from  those 
of   the   children   that   came   after.     But  now  the  years  had 
brought  many  changes  besides  those  in  the  contour  of  her 
cheek  and  throat ;  and  that  Grandcourt  should  marry  her  had 
become  her  dominant  desire.      The  equivocal  position  which 
she  had  not  minded  about  for  herself  was  now  telling  upon 
her  through  her  children,  whom  she  loved  with  a  devotion 
charged  with  the  added  passion  of  atonement.     She  had  no 
repentance  except  in  this  direction.     If  Grandcourt  married 
her,  the  children  would  be  none  the  worse  off  for  what  had 
passed:  they  would  see  their  mother  in  a  dignified  position, 
and  they  would  be  at  no  disadvantage  with  the  world:   her 
son  would  be  made  his  father's  heir.     It  was  the  yearning  for 
this  result  which  gave  the  supreme  importance  to  Grandcourt's 
feeling  for  her ;  her  love  for  him  had  long  resolved  itself  into 
anxiety  that  he  should  give  her  the  unique,  permanent  claim  of 
a  wife,  and  she  expected  no  other  happiness  in  marriage  than 
the  satisfaction  of  her  maternal  love  and  pride — including  her 
pride  for  herself  in  the  presence  oi  her  children.     For  the  sake 
of  that  result  she  was  prepared  even  with  a  tragic  firmness  to 
endure  any  thing  quietly  in  marriage ;  and  she  had  had  acute- 
ness  enough  to  cherish  Grandcourt's  flickering  purpose  nega- 
tively, by  not  molesting  him  with  passionate  appeals  and  with 
scene-making.     In  her,  as  in  every  one  else  who  wanted  any 
thing  of  him,  his  incalculable  turns,  and  his  tendency  to  harden 
under  beseeching,  had  created  a  reasonable  dread — a  slow  dis- 
covery, of  which  no  presentiment  had  been  given  in  the  bear- 
ing of  a  youthful  lover  with  a  fine  line  of  face  and  the  softest 
manners.     But  reticence  had  necessarily  cost  something  to  this 
impassioned  woman,  and  she  was  the  bitterer  for  it.     There  is 
no  quailing — even  that  forced  on  the  helpless  and  injured — 
which  has  not  an  ugly  obverse :  the  withheld  sting  was  gath- 
ering venom.     She  was  absolutely  dependent  on  Grandcourt; 
for,  though  he  had  been  always  liberal  in  expenses  for  her,  he 
had  kept  every  thing  voluntary  on  his  part ;  and  with  the  goal 
of  marriage  before  her,  she  would  ask  for  nothing  less.     He 
had  said  that  he  would  never  settle  any  thing  except  by  will ; 
and  when  she  was  thinking  of  alternatives  for  the  future,  it 
often  occurred  to  her  that,  even  if  she  did  not  become  Crrand- 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  349 

court's  wife,  he  might  never  have  a  son  who  would  have  a  le- 
gitimate claim  on  him,  and  the  end  might  be  that  her  son 
would  be  made  heir  to  the  best  part  of  his  estates.  No  son  at 
that  early  age  could  promise  to  have  more  of  his  father's  phy- 
sique. But  her  becoming  Grandcourt's  wife  was  so  far  from 
being  an  extravagant  notion  of  possibility,  that  even  Lush  had 
entertained  it,  and  had  said  that  he  would  as  soon  bet  on  it  as 
on  any  other  likelihood  with  regard  to  his  familiar  companion. 
Lush,  indeed,  on  inferring  that  Grandcourt  had  a  preconception 
of  using  his  residence  at  Diplow  in  order  to  win  Miss  Arrow- 
point,  had  thought  it  well  to  fan  that  project,  taking  it  as  a 
tacit  renunciation  of  the  marriage  with  Mrs.  Glasher,  which  had 
long  been  a  mark  for  the  hovering  and  wheeling  of  Grandcourt's 
caprice.  But  both  prospects  had  been  negatived  by  Gwendo- 
len's appearance  on  the  scene ;  and  it  was  natural  enough  for 
Mrs.  Glasher  to  enter  with  eagerness  into  Lush's  plan  of  hinder- 
ing that  new  danger  by  setting  up  a  barrier  in  the  mind  of  the 
girl  who  was  being  sought  as  a  bride.  She  entered  into  it  with 
an  eagerness  which  had  passion  in  it  as  well  as  purpose,  some 
of  the  stored-up  venom  delivering  itself  in  that  way.. 

After  that,  she  had  heard  from  Lush  of  Gwendolen's  depart- 
ure, and  the  probability  that  all  danger  from  her  was  got  rid 
of ;  but  there  had  been  no  letter  to  tell  her  that  the  danger 
had  returned  and  had  become  a  certainty.  She  had  since  then 
written  to  Grandcourt,  as  she  did  habitually,  and  he  had  been 
longer  than  usual  in  answering.  She  was  inferring  that  he 
might  intend  coming  to  Gadsmere  at  the  time  when  he  was 
actually  on  the  way;  and  she  was  not  without  hope  —  what 
construction  of  another's  mind  is  not  strong  wishing  equal 
to? — that  a  certain  sickening  from  that  frustrated  courtship 
might  dispose  him  to  slip  the  more  easily  into  the  old  track  of 
intention. 

Grandcourt  had  two  grave  purposes  in  coming  to  Gadsmere : 
to  convey  the  news  of  his  approaching  marriage  in  person,  in 
order  to  make  this  first  diflBculty  final ;  and  to  get  from  Lydia 
his  mother's  diamonds,  which  long  ago  he  had  confided  to  her 
and  wished  her  to  wear.  Her  person  suited  diamonds,  and 
made  them  look  as  if  they  were  worth  some  of  the  money 
given  for  them.     These  particular  diamonds  were  not  mount- 


350  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

ains  of  liglit — they  were  mere  peas  and  haricots  for  the  ears, 
neck,  and  hair;  but  they  were  worth  some  thousands,  and 
Grandcourt  necessarily  wished  to  have  them  for  his  wife. 
Formerly  when  he  had  asked  Lydia  to  put  them  into  his  keep- 
in  o*  ao-ain,  simply  on  the  ground  that  they  would  be  safer  and 
ought  to  be  deposited  at  the  bank,  she  had  quietly  but  abso- 
lutely refused,  declaring  that  they  were  quite  safe ;  and  at  last 
had  said,  "  If  you  ever  marry  another  woman,  I  will  give  them 
up  to  her.  Are  you  going  to  marry  another  woman?"  At  that 
time  Grandcourt  had  no  motive  which  urged  him  to  persist, 
and  he  had  this  grace  in  him,  that  the  disposition  to  exercise 
power  either  by  cowing  or  disappointing  others  or  exciting  in 
them  a  rage  which  they  dared  not  express — a  disposition  which 
was  active  in  him  as  other  propensities  became  languid — had 
always  been  in  abeyance  before  Lydia.  A  severe  interpreter 
might  say  that  the  mere  facts  of  their  relation  to  each  other, 
the  melancholy  position  of  this  woman  who  depended  on  his 
will,  made  a  standing  banquet  for  his  delight  in  dominating. 
But  there  was  something  else  than  this  in  his  forbearance  to- 
ward her :  there  was  the  surviving  though  metamorphosed  ef- 
fect of  the  power  she  had  had  over  him,  and  it  was  this  ef- 
fect, the  fitful  dull  lapse  toward  solicitations  that  once  had  the 
zest  now  missing  from  life,  which  had  again  and  again  inclined 
him  to  espouse  a  familiar  past  rather  than  rouse  himself  to  the 
expectation  of  novelty.  But  now  novelty  had  taken  hold  of 
him,  and  urged  him  to  make  the  most  of  it. 

Mrs.  Glasher  was  seated  in  the  pleasant  room  where  she  ha- 
bitually passed  her  mornings  with  her  children  round  her.  It 
had  a  square  projecting  window,  and  looked  on  broad  gravel 
and  grass,  sloping  toward  a  little  brook  that  entered  the  pool. 
The  top  of  a  low  black  cabinet,  the  old  oak  table,  the  chairs  in 
tawny  leather,  were  littered  with  the  children's  toys,  books,  and 
garden  garments,  at  which  a  maternal  lady  in  pastel  looked 
down  from  the  walls  with  smiling  indulgence.  The  children 
were  all  there.  The  three  girls,  seated  round  their  mother 
near  the  window,  were  miniature  portraits  of  her — dark-eyed, 
delicate-featured  brunettes  with  a  rich  bloom  on  their  cheeks, 
their  little  nostrils  and  eyebrows  singularly  finished,  as  if  they 
were  tiny  women,  the  eldest  being  barely  nine.     The  boy  was 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  351 

seated  on  the  carpet  at  some  distance,  bending  his  blonde  head 
over  the  animals  from  a  Noah's  ark,  admonishing  them  sepa- 
rately in  a  voice  of  threatening  command,  and  occasionally  lick 
ing  the  spotted  ones  to  see  if  the  colors  would  hold.  Joseph- 
ine, the  eldest,  was  having  her  French  lesson ;  and  the  oth- 
ers, with  their  dolls  on  their  laps,  sat  demurely  enough  for  im- 
ages of  the  Madonna.  Mrs.  Glasher's  toilet  had  been  made 
very  carefully — each  day  now  she  said  to  herself  that  Grand- 
court  might  come  in.  Her  head,  which,  spite  of  emaciation, 
had  an  ineffaceable  beauty  in  the  fine  profile,  crisp  curves  of 
hair,  and  clearly  marked  eyebrows,  rose  impressively  above  her 
bronze-colored  silk  and  velvet,  and  the  gold  necklace  which 
Grandcourt  had  first  clasped  round  her  neck  years  ago.  Not 
that  she  had  any  pleasure  in  her  toilet ;  her  chief  thought  of 
herself  seen  in  the  glass  was,  "  How  changed !" — but  such  good 
in  life  as  remained  to  her  she  would  keep.  If  her  chief  wish 
were  fulfilled,  she  could  imagine  herself  getting  the  comeliness 
of  a  matron  fit  for  the  highest  rank.  The  little  faces  beside 
her,  almost  exact  reductions  of  her  own,  seemed  to  tell  of  the 
blooming  curves  which  had  once  been  where  now  was  sunken 
pallor.  But  the  children  kissed  the  pale  cheeks  and  never 
found  them  deficient.  That  love  was  now  the  one  end  of  her 
life. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Glasher  turned  away  her  head  from  Joseph- 
ine's book  and  listened.  "  Hush,  dear !  I  think  some  one  is 
coming." 

Henleigh,  the  boy,  jumped  up,  and  said,  "  Mamma,  is  it  the 
miller  with  my  donkey  ?" 

He  got  no  answer,  and,  going  up  to  his  mamma's  knee,  re- 
peated his  question  in  an  insistent  tone.  But  the  door  opened, 
and  the  servant  announced  Mr.  Grandcourt.  Mrs.  Glasher  rose 
in  some  agitation.  Henleigh  frowned  at  him  in  disgust  at  his 
not  being  the  miller,  and  the  three  little  girls  lifted  up  their 
dark  eyes  to  him  timidly.  They  had  none  of  them  any  par- 
ticular liking  for  this  friend  of  mamma's — in  fact,  when  he 
had  taken  Mrs.  Glasher's  hand  and  then  turned  to  put  his  other 
hand  on  Henleigh's  head,  that  energetic  scion  began  to  beat 
the  friend's  arm  away  with  his  fists.  The  little  girls  submitted 
bashfully  to  be  patted  under  the  chin  and  kissed ;  but,  on  the 


8o2  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

whole,  it  seemed  better  to  send  them  into  the  garden,  where 
they  were  presently  dancing  and  chatting  with  the  dogs  on  the 
gravel. 

"  How  far  are  you  come  ?"  said  Mrs.  Glasher,  as  Grandcourt 
put  away  his  hat  and  overcoat. 

"  From  Diplow,"  he  answered,  slowly,  seating  himself  op- 
posite her  and  looking  at  her  with  an  unnoting  gaze  which  she. 
noted. 

"You  are  tired,  then?" 

"  No,  I  rested  at  the  Junction — a  hideous  hole.  These  rail- 
way journeys  are  always  a  confounded  bore.  But  I  had  coffee 
and  smoked." 

Grandcourt  drew  out  his  handkerchief,  rubbed  his  face,  and 
in  returning  the  handkerchief  to  his  pocket  looked  at  his  cross- 
ed knee  and  blameless  boot,  as  if  any  stranger  were  opposite  to 
him,  instead  of  a  woman  quivering  with  a  suspense  which  every 
word  and  look  of  his  was  to  incline  toward  hope  or  dread. 
But  he  was  really  occupied  with  their  interview  and  what  it 
was  likely  to  include.  Imagine  the  difference  in  rate  of  emo- 
tion between  this  woman,  whom  the  years  had  worn  to  a  more 
conscious  dependence  and  sharper  eagerness,  and  this  man, 
whom  they  were  dulling  into  a  more  and  more  neutral  ob- 
stinacy. 

"  I  expected  to  see  you — it  was  so  long  since  I  had  heard 
from  you.  I  suppose  the  weeks  seem  longer  at  Gadsmere  than 
they  do  at  Diplow,"  said  Mrs.  Glasher.  She  had  a  quick,  in- 
cisive way  of  speaking  that  seemed  to  go  with  her  features,  as 
the  tone  and  timbre  of  a  violin  go  with  its  form. 

"  Yes,"  drawled  Grandcourt.  "  But  you  found  the  money 
paid  into  the  bank." 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Glasher,  curtly,  tingling  with  impa- 
tience. Always  before — at  least  she  fancied  so — Grandcourt 
had  taken  more  notice  of  her  and  the  children  than  he  did  to- 
day. 

"Yes,"  he  resumed,  playing  with  his  whisker,  and  at  first 
not  looking  at  her,  "  the  time  has  gone  on  at  rather  a  rattling 
pace  with  me;  generally  it  is  slow  enough.  But  there  has 
been  a  good  deal  happening,  as  you  know" — here  he  turned 
his  eyes  upon  her. 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  353 

"  What  do  I  know  ?"  said  she,  sharply. 

He  left  a  pause  before  he  said,  without  change  of  manner, 
"  That  I  was  thinking  of  marrying.     You  saw  Miss  Harleth  f 

"iSAe  told  you  that?" 

The  pale  cheeks  looked  even  paler,  perhaps  from  the  fierce 
brightness  in  the  eyes  above  them. 

"  No.  Lush  told  me,"  was  the  slow  answer.  It  was  as  if 
the  thumb-screw  and  the  iron  boot  were  being  placed  by  creep- 
ing hands  within  sight  of  the  expectant  victim. 

"  Good  God !  say  at  once  that  you'  are  going  to  marry  her," 
she  burst  out  passionately,  her  knees  shaking  and  her  hands 
tightly  clasped. 

"  Of  course,  this  kind  of  thing  must  happen  some  time  or 
other,  Lydia,"  said  he ;  really,  now  the  thumb-screw  was  on,  not 
wishing  to  make  the  pain  worse. 

"  You  didn't  always  see  the  necessity." 

"  Perhaps  not.     I  see  it  now." 

In  those  few  under-toned  words  of  Grandcourt's  she  felt  as 
absolute  a  resistance  as  if  her  thin  fingers  had  been  pushing  at 
a  fast-shut  iron  door.  She  knew  her  helplessness,  and  shrunk 
from  testing  it  by  any  appeal — shrunk  from  crying  in  a  dead 
ear  and  clinging  to  dead  knees,  only  to  see  the  immovable  face 
and  feel  the  rigid  limbs.  She  did  not  weep  nor  speak:  she 
was  too  hard-pressed  by  the  sudden  certainty  which  had  as 
much  of  chill  sickness  in  it  as  of  thought  and  emotion.  The 
defeated  clutch  of  struggling  hope  gave  her  in  these  first  mo- 
ments a  horrible  sensation.  At  last  she  rose  with  a  spasmodic 
effort,  and,  unconscious  of  every  thing  but  her  wretchedness, 
pressed  her  forehead  against  the  hard  cold  glass  of  the  window. 
The  children,  playing  on  the  gravel,  took  this  as  a  sign  that 
she  wanted  them,  and,  running  forward,  stood  in  front  of  her 
with  their  sweet  faces  upturned  expectantly.  This  roused  her: 
she  shook  her  head  at  them,  waved  them  off,  and,  overcome  with 
this  painful  exertion,  sunk  back  in  the  nearest  chair. 

Grandcourt  had  risen  too.  He  was  doubly  annoyed — at  the 
scene  itself,  and  at  the  sense  that  no  imperiousness  of  his  could 
save  him  from  it ;  but  the  task  had  to  be  gone  through,  and 
there  was  the  administrative  necessity  of  arranging  things  so 
that  there  should  be  as  little  annoyance  as  possible  in  future. 


354  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

He  was  leaning  against  the  corner  of  the  fire-place.  She  looked 
up  at  him,  and  said,  bitterly, 

"All  this  is  of  no  consequence  to  you.  I  and  the  children 
are  importunate  creatures.  You  wish  to  get  away  again  and 
be  with  Miss  Harleth." 

*' Don't  make  the  affair  more  disagreeable  than  it  need  be, 
Lydia.  It  is  of  no  use  to  harp  on  things  that  can't  be  altered. 
Of  course  it's  deucedly  disagreeable  to  me  to  see  you  making 
yourself  miserable.  I've  taken  this  journey  to  tell  you  what 
you  must  make  up  your  mind  to — you  and  the  children  will 
be  provided  for  as  usual — and  there's  an  end  of  it." 

Silence.  She  dared  not  answer.  This  woman  with  the  in- 
tense eager  look  had  had  the  iron  of  the  mother's  anguish  in 
her  soul,  and  it  had  made  her  sometimes  capable  of  a  repres- 
sion harder  than  shrieking  and  struggle.  But  underneath  the 
silence  there  w^as  an  outlash  of  hatred  and  vindictiveness :  she 
wished  that  the  marriage  might  make  two  others  wretched  be- 
sides herself.     Presently  he  went  on : 

"It  will  be  better  for  you.  You  may  go  on  living  here. 
But  I  think  of  by-and-by  settling  a  good  sum  on  you  and  the 
children,  and  you  can  live  where  you  like.  There  will  be  noth- 
ing for  you  to  complain  of  then.  Whatever  happens,  you  will 
feel  secure.  Nothing  could  be  done  beforehand.  Every  thing 
has  gone  on' in  a  hurry." 

Grandcourt  ceased  his  slow  delivery  of  sentences.  He  did 
not  expect  her  to  thank  him,  but  he  considered  that  she  might 
reasonably  be  contented,  if  it  were  possible  for  Lydia  to  be 
contented.     She  showed  no  change,  and  after  a  minute  he  said, 

"  You  have  never  had  any  reason  to  fear  that  I  should  be  il- 
liberal.    I  don't  care  a  curse  about  the  money." 

"  If  you  did  care  about  it,  I  suppose  you  would  not  give  it 
us,"  said  Lydia.     The  sarcasm  was  irrepressible. 

"That's  a  devilishly  unfair  thing  to  say,"  Grandcourt  re- 
plied, in  a  lower  tone ;  "  and  I  advise  you  not  to  say  that  sort 
of  thing  again." 

"Should  you  punish  me  by  leaving  the  children  in  beg- 
gary?" In  spite  of  herself,  the  one  outlet  of  venom  had 
brought  the  other. 

"There  is  no   question  about  leaving  the  children  in  beg- 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  355 

gary,"  said  Grandcourt,  still  in  his  low  voice.  "  I  advise  you 
not  to  say  things  that  you  will  repent  of." 

"  I  am  used  to  repenting,"  said  she,  bitterly.  "  Perhaps  you 
will  repent.     You  have  already  repented  of  loving  me." 

"All  this  will  only  make  it  uncommonly  difficult  for  us  to 
meet  again.     What  friend  have  you  besides  me?" 

"  Quite  true." 

The  words  came  like  a  low  moan.  At  the  same  moment 
there  flashed  through  her  the  wish  that  after  promising  himself 
a  better  happiness  than  that  he  had  had  with  her,  he  might  feel 
a  misery  and  loneliness  which  would  drive  him  back  to  her  to 
find  some  memory  of  a  time  when  he  was  young,  glad,  and 
hopeful.  But,  no !  he  would  go  scathless ;  it  was  she  who  had 
to  suffer. 

^yith  this  the  scorching  words  were  ended.  Grandcourt  had 
meant  to  stay  till  evening ;  he  wished  to  curtail  his  visit,  but 
there  was  no  suitable  train  earlier  than  the  one  he  had  arranged 
to  go  by,  and  he  had  still  to  speak  to  Lydia  on  the  second  ob- 
ject of  his  visit,  which,  like  a  second  surgical  operation,  seemed 
to  require  an  interval.  The  hours  had  to  go  by ;  there  was 
eating  to  be  done ;  the  children  came  in  again — all  this  mech- 
anism of  life  had  to  be  gone  through  with  the  dreary  sense  of 
constraint  which  is  often  felt  in  domestic  quarrels  of  a  com- 
moner kind.  To  Lydia  it  was  some  slight  relief  for  her  stifled 
fury  to  have  the  children  present.  .  She  felt  a  savage  glory  in 
their  loveliness,  as  if  it  would  taunt  Grandcourt  with  his  indif- 
ference to  her  and  them — a  secret  darting  of  venom  which  was 
strongly  imaginative.  He  acquitted  himself  with  all  the  ad- 
vantage of  a  man  w^hose  grace  of  bearing  has  long  been  mold- 
ed on  an  experience  of  boredom  —  nursed  the  little  Antonia, 
who  sat  with  her  hands  crossed  and  eyes  upturned  to  his  bald 
head,  which  struck  her  as  w^orthy  of  observation — and  propiti- 
ated Henleigh  by  promising  him  a  beautiful  saddle  and  bridle. 
It  was  only  the  two  eldest  girls  who  had  known  him  as  a  con- 
tinual presence;  and  the  intervening  years  had  overlaid  their 
infantine  memories  with  a  bashfulness  which  Grandcourt's 
bearing  was  not  likely  to  dissipate.  He  and  Lydia  occasional- 
ly, in  the  presence  of  the  servants,  made  a  conventional  remark ; 
otherwise  they   never   spoke ;   and  the   stagnant   thought  in 


356  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Grandcourt's  mind  all  tte  while  was  of  his  own  infatuation  in 
having  given  her  those  diamonds,  which  obliged  him  to  incur 
the  nuisance  of  speaking  about  them.  He  had  an  ingrained 
care  for  what  he  held  to  belong  to  his  caste,  and  about  proper- 
ty he  liked  to  be  lordly ;  also  he  had  a  consciousness  of  indig- 
nity to  himself  in  having  to  ask  for  any  thing  in  the  world. 
But  however  he  might  assert  his  independence  of  Mrs.  Glasher's 
past,  he  had  made  a  past  for  himself  which  was  a  stronger 
yoke  than  any  he  could  impose.  He  must  ask  for  the  dia- 
monds, which  he  had  promised  to  Gwendolen. 

At  last  they  were  alone  again,  with  the  candles  above  them, 
face  to  face  with  each  other.  Grandcourt  looked  at  his  watch, 
and  then  said,  in  an  apparently  indifferent  drawl,  "  There  is 
one  thing  I  had  to  mention,  Lydia.  My  diamonds — you  have 
them." 

"Yes,  I  have  them,"  she  answered,  promptly,  rising,  and 
-standing  with  her  arms  thrust  down  and  her  fingers  threaded, 
while  Grandcourt  sat  still.  She  had  expected  the  topic,  and 
made  her  resolve  about  it.  But  she  meant  to  carry  out  her  re- 
solve, if  possible,  without  exasperating  him.  During  the  hours 
of  silence  she  had  longed  to  recall  the  words  which  had  only 
widened  the  breach  between  them. 

"  They  are  in  this  house,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  No ;  not  in  this  house." 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  kept  them  by  you." 

"When  I  said  so  it  was  true.  They  are  in  the  bank  at 
Dudley." 

,  "  Get  them  away,  will  you  ?  I  must  make  an  arrangement 
for  your-  delivering  them  to  some  one." 

"  Make  no  arrangement.     They  shall  be  delivered  to  the  per- 
son you  intended  them  for.     /  will  make  the  arrangement." 
'    "  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"What  I  say.  I  have  always  told  you  that  I  would  give 
them  up  to  your  wife.  I  shall  keep  my  word.  She  is  not 
your  wife  yet." 

"  This  is  foolery,"  said  Grandcourt,  with  under-toned  disgust. 
It  was  too  irritating  that  his  indulgence  of  Lydia  had  given 
her  a  sort  of  mastery  over  him,  in  spite  of  her  dependent  con- 
dition. 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  357 

She  did  not  speak.  He  also  rose  now,  but  stood  leaning 
against  the  mantel-piece  with  his  side-face  toward  her. 

"The  diamonds  must  be  delivered  to  me  before  my  mar- 
riage," he  began  again. 

"  What  is  your  wedding-day  ?" 

"  The  10th,     There  is  no  time  to  be  lost." 

"And  where  do  you  go  after  the  marriage?" 

He  did  not  reply  except  by  looking  more  sullen.  Presently 
he  said,  "  You  must  appoint  a  day  before  then  to  get  them 
from  the  bank  and  meet  me,  or  somebody  else  I  will  commis- 
sion ;  it's  a  great  nuisance.     Mention  a  day." 

"  No ;  I  shall  not  do  that.  They  shall  be  delivered  to  her 
safely.     I  shall  keep  my  word." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  Grandcourt,  just  audibly,  turn- 
ing to  face  her,  "  that  you  will  not  do  as  I  tell  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  mean  that,"  was  the  answer  that  leaped  out,  while 
her  eyes  flashed  close  to  him.  The  poor  creature  was  imme- 
diately conscious  that  if  her  words  had  any  effect  on  her  own 
lot,  the  effect  must  be  mischievous,  and  might  nullify  all  the 
remaining  advantage  of  her  long  patience.  But  the  word  had 
been  spoken. 

He  was  in  a  position  the  most  irritating  to  him.  He  could 
not  shake  her  nor  touch  her  hostilely ;  and  if  he  could,  the 
process  would  not  bring  the  diamonds.  He  shrunk  from  the 
only  sort  of  threat  that  would  frighten  her — if  she  believed  it. 
And  in  general,  there  was  nothing  he  hated  more  than  to  be 
forced  into  any  thing  like  violence  even  in  words:  his  will 
must  impose  itself  without  trouble.  After  looking  at  her  for 
a  moment,  he  turned  his  side-face  toward  her  again,  leaning  as 
before,  and  said, 

"  Infernal  idiots  that  women  are !" 

"Why  will  you  not  tell  me  where  you  are  going  after  the 
marriage?  I  could  be  at  the  wedding  if  I  liked,  and  learn  in 
that  way,"  said  Lydia,  not  shrinking  from  the  one  suicidal  form 
of  threat  within  her  power. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  like,  you  can  play  the  mad  woman,"  said 
Grandcourt,  with  sotto-voce  scorn.  "  It  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  you  will  wait  to  think  what  good  will  come  of  it — or  what 
you  owe  to  me." 


358  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

He  was  in  a  state  of  disgust  and  imbitterment  quite  new  in 
the  history  of  their  relation  to  each  other.  It  was  undeniable 
that  this  woman,  whose  Kfe  he  had  allowed  to  send  such  deep 
suckers  into  his,  had  a  terrible  power  of  annoyance  in  her  ;  and 
the  rash  hurry  of  his  proceedings  had  left  her  opportunities 
open.  His  pride  saw  very  ugly  possibilities  threatening  it,  and 
he  stood  for  several  minutes  in  silence  reviewing  the  situation 
— considering  how  he  could  act  upon  her.  Unlike  himself,  she 
was  of  a  direct  nature,  with  certain  simple,  strongly  colored 
tendencies,  and  there  was  one  often-experienced  effect  which  he 
thought  he  could  count  upon  now.  As  Sir  Hugh  had  said  of 
him,  Grandcourt  knew  how  to  play  his  cards  upon  occasion. 

He  did  not  speak  again,  but  looked  at  his  watch,  rang  the 
bell,  and  ordered  the  vehicle  to  be  brought  round  immediately. 
Then  he  removed  farther  from  her,  walked  as  if  in  expectation 
of  a  summons,  and  remained  silent  without  turning  his  eyes 
upon  her. 

She  was  suffering  the  hoiTible  conflict  of  self-reproach  and 
tenacity.  She  saw  beforehand  Grandcourt  leaving  her  without 
even  looking  at  her  again — herself  left  behind  in  lonely  uncer- 
tainty^hearing  nothing  from  him — not  knowing  whether  she 
had  done  her  children  harm  —  feeling  that  she  had,  perhaps, 
made  him  hate  her :  all  the  wretchedness  of  a  creature  who  had 
defeated  her  own  motives.  And  yet  she  could  not  bear  to  give 
up  a  purpose  which  was  a  sweet  morsel  to  her  vindictiveness. 
If  she  had  not  been  a  mother,  she  would  willingly  have  sacri- 
ficed herself  to  her  revenge — to  what  she  felt  to  be  the  justice 
of  hindering  another  from  getting  happiness  by  willingly  giv- 
ing her  over  to  misery.  The  two  dominant  passions  were  at 
struggle.     She  must  satisfy  them  both. 

"  Don't  let  us  part  in  anger,  Henleigh,"  she  began,  without 
changing  her  place  or  attitude.  "  It  is  a  very  little  thing  I  ask. 
If  I  were  refusing  to  give  any  thing  up  that  you  call  yours,  it 
would  be  different.  That  would  be  a  reason  for  treating  me  as 
if  you  hated  me.  But  I  ask  such  a  little  thing.  If  you  will 
tell  me  where  you  are  going  on  the  wedding-day,  I  will  take 
care  that  the  diamonds  shall  be  delivered  to  her  without  scan- 
dal.    Without  scandal,"  she  repeated,  entreatingly. 

*'  Such  preposterous  whims  make  a  woman  odious,"  said 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  359 

Grandcourt,  not  giving  way  in  look  or  movement.  "  What  is 
the  use  of  talking  to  mad  people  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  foolish  —  loneliness  has  made  me  foolish  —  in- 
dulge me."  Sobs  rose  as  she  spoke.  "  If  you  will  indulge 
me  in  this  one  folly,  I  will  be  very  meek — I  will  never  trouble 
you."  She  burst  into  hysterical  crying,  and  said  again,  almost 
with  a  scream,  "  I  will  be  very  meek  after  that." 

There  was  a  strange  mixture  of  acting  and  reality  in  this 
passion.  She  kept  hold  of  her  purpose  as  a  child  might  tight- 
en its  hand  over  a  small  stolen  thing,  crying  and  denying  all 
the  while.  Even  Grandcourt  was  wrought  upon  by  surprise : 
this  capricious  wish,  this  childish  violence,  was  as  unlike  Lydia's 
bearing  as  it  was  incongruous  with  her  person.  Both  had  al- 
ways had  a  stamp  of  dignity  on  them.  Yet  she  seemed  more 
manageable  in  this  state  than  in  her  former  attitude  of  defiance. 
He  came  close  up  to  her  again,  and  said,  in  his  low,  imperious 
tone,  "  Be  quiet,  and  hear  what  I  tell  you.  I  will  never  forgive 
you  if  you  present  yourself  again  and  make  a  scene." 

She  pressed  her  handkerchief  against  her  face,  and,  when  she 
could  speak  firmly,  said,  in  the  muffled  voice  that  follows  sob- 
bing, "  I  will  not — if  you  will  let  me  have  my  way — I  promise 
you  not  to  thrust  myself  forward  again.  I  have  never  broken 
my  word  to  you — how  many  have  you  broken  to  me  ?  When 
you  gave  me  the  diamonds  to  wear,  you  were  not  thinking  of 
having  another  wife.  And  I  now  give  them  up — I  don't  re- 
proach you — I  only  ask  you  to  let  me  give  them  up  in  my  own 
way.  Have  I  not  borne  it  well  ?  Every  thing  is  to  be  taken 
away  from  me,  and  when  I  ask  for  a  straw,  a  chip — you  deny  it 
me."  She  had  spoken  rapidly,  but  after  a  little  pause  she  said 
more  slowly,  her  voice  freed  from  its  muffle.d  tone,  "I  will 
not  bear  to  have  it  denied  me." 

Grandcourt  had  a  baffling  sense  that  he  had  to  deal  with 
something  like  madness ;  he  could  only  govern  by  giving  way. 
The  servant  came  to  say  the  fly  was  ready.  When  the  door 
was  shut  again,  Grandcourt  said,  sullenly,  "  We  are  going  to 
Ryelands,  then." 

"They  shall  be  delivered  to  her  there,"  said  Lydia,  with  de- 
cision. 

"  Very  well,  I  am  going."     He  felt  no  inclination  even  to 


360  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

take  her  hand :  she  had  annoyed  him  too  sorely.  But,  now 
that  she  had  gained  her  point,  she  was  prepared  to  humble  her- 
self that  she  might  propitiate  him. 

"  Forgive  me ;  I  will  never  vex  you  again,"  she  said,  with  be- 
seeching looks.  Her  inward  voice  said  distinctly,  "  It  is  only  I 
who  have  to  forgive."     Yet  she  was  obliged  to  ask  forgiveness. 

"  You  had  better  keep  that  promise.  You  have  made  me 
feel  uncommonly  ill  with  your  folly,"  said  Grandcourt,  appar- 
ently choosing  this  statement  as  the  strongest  possible  use  of 
language. 

"  Poor  thing !"  said  Lydia,  with  a  faint  smile.  "Was  he  aware 
of  the  minor  fact  that  he  had  made  her  feel  ill  this  morning  ? 

But  with  the  quick  transition  natural  to  her,  she  was  now 
ready  to  coax  him  if  he  would  let  her,  that  they  might  part  in 
some  degree  reconciled.  She  ventured  to  lay  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  he  did  not  move  away  from  her.  She  had  so  far 
succeeded  in  alarming  him,  that  he  was  not  sorry  for  these 
proofs  of  returned  subjection. 

"  Light  a  cigar,"  she  said,  soothingly,  taking  the  case  from 
his  breast-pocket  and  opening  it. 

Amidst  such  caressing  signs  of  mutual  fear  they  parted. 
The  effect  that  clung  and  gnawed  within  Grandcourt  was  a 
sense  of  imperfect  mastery. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


"  A  wild  dedication  of  yourselves 
To  impath'd  waters,  undream'd  shores." 

Shakspeare. 

On  the  day  when  Gwendolen  Harleth  was  married  and  be- 
came Mrs.  Grandcourt  the  morning  was  clear  and  bright,  and 
while  the  sun  was  low  a  slight  frost  crisped  the  leaves.  The 
bridal  party  was  worth  seeing,  and  half  Pennicote  turned  out 
to  see  it,  lining  the  pathway  up  to  the  church.  An  old  friend 
of  the  rector's  performed  the  marriage  ceremony,  the  rector 
himself  acting  as  father,  to  the  great  advantage  of  the  proces- 
sion.    Only  two  faces,  it  was  remarked,  showed  signs  of  sad- 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  361 

ness — Mrs.  Davilow's  and  Anna's.  The  mother's  delicate  eye- 
lids were  pink,  as  if  she  had  been  crying  half  the  night ;  and 
no  one  was  surprised  that,  splendid  as  the  match  was,  she 
should  feel  the  parting  from  a  daughter  who  was  the  flower  of 
her  children  and  of  her  own  life.  It  was  less  understood  why 
Anna  should  be  troubled  when  she  was  being  so  well  set  off  by 
the  brides-maid's  dress.  Every  one  else  seemed  to  reflect  the 
brilliancy  of  the  occasion — the  bride  most  of  all.  Of  her  it 
was  agreed  that  as  to  figure  and  carriage  she  was  worthy  to  be 
a  "  lady  o'  title :"  as  to  face,  perhaps  it  might  be  thought  that 
a  title  required  something  more  rosy ;  but  the  bridegroom  him- 
self not  being  fresh-colored — being  indeed,  as  the  miller's  wife 
observed,  very  much  of  her  own  husband's  complexion  —  the 
piatch  was  the  more  complete.  Anyhow,  he  must  be  very 
fond  of  her ;  and  it  was  to  be  hoped  that  he  would  never  cast 
it  up  to  her  that  she  had  been  going  out  to  service  as  a  govern- 
ess, and  her  mother  to  live  at  Sawyer's  cottage  —  vicissitudes 
which  had  been  much  spoken  of  in  the  \TLllage.  The  miller's 
daughter  of  fourteen  could  not  believe  that  high  gentry  be- 
haved badly  to  their  wives,  but  her  mother  instructed  her : 
"  Oh,  child,  men's  men :  gentle  or  simple,  they're  much  of  a 
muchness.  I've  heard  my  mother  say  Squire  Pelton  used  to 
take  his  dogs  and  a  long  whip  into  his  wife's  room,  and  flog 
'em  there  to  frighten  her;  and  my  mother  was  lady's-maid 
there  at  the  very  time." 

"  That's  unlucky  talk  for  a  wedding,  Mrs.  Girdle,"  said  the 
tailor.  "A  quarrel  may  end  wi'  the  whip,  but  it  begins  wi'  the 
tongue,  and  it's  the  women  have  got  the  most  o'  that." 

"  The  Lord  gave  it  'em  to  use,  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Girdle, 
"jffe  never  meant  you  to  have  it  all  your  own  way." 

"  By  what  I  can  make  out  from  the  gentleman  as  attends  to 
the  grooming  at  Offendene,"  said  the  tailor,  "  this  Mr.  Grand- 
court  has  wonderful  little  tongue.  Every  thing  must  be  done, 
dummy-like,  without  his  ordering." 

"  Then  he's  the  more  whip,  I  doubt,"  said  Mrs.  Girdle.  ^^She''s 
got  tongue  enough,  I  warrant  her.  See,  there  they  come  out 
together  1" 

"  What  wonderful  long  corners  she's  got  to  her  eyes !"  said  the 
tailor.     "  She  makes  you  feel  comical  when  she  looks  at  you." 

Vol.  L— 16 


362  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Gwendolen,  in  fact,  never  showed  more  elasticity  in  her  bear- 
ing, more  lustre  in  her  long  brown  glance.  She  had  the  brill- 
iancy of  strong  excitement,  which  will  sometimes  come  even 
from  pain.  It  was  not  pain,  however,  that  she  was  feeling. 
She  had  wrought  herself  up  to  much  the  same  condition  as 
that  in  which  she  stood  at  the  gambling-table  when  Deronda 
was  looking  at  her  and  she  began  to  lose.  There  was  enjoy- 
ment in  it.  Whatever  uneasiness  a  growing  conscience  had 
created  was  disregarded  as  an  ailment  might  have  been,  amidst 
the  gratification  of  that  ambitious  vanity  and  desire  for  luxury 
within  her  which  it  would  take  a  great  deal  of  slow  poisoning 
to  kill.  This  morning  she  could  not  have  said  truly  that  she 
repented  her  acceptance  of  Grandcourt,  or  that  any  fears  in 
hazy  perspective  could  hinder  the  glowing  effects  of  the  im- 
mediate scene  in  which  she  was  the  central  object.  That  she 
was  doing  something  wrong;  that  a  punishment  might  be 
hanging  over  her;  that  the  woman  to  whom  she  had  given  a 
promise,  and  broken  it,  was  thinking  of  her  in  bitterness  and 
misery  with  a  just  reproach ;  that  Deronda,  with  his  way  of 
looking  into  things,  very  likely  despised  her  for  marrying 
Grandcourt,  as  he  had  despised  her  for  gambling ;  above  all, 
that  the  cord  which  united  her  with  this  lover,  and  which  she 
had  hitherto  held  by  the  hand,  was  now  being  flung  over  her 
neck — all  this  yeasty  mingling  of  dimly  understood  facts  with 
vague  but  deep  impressions,  and  with  images  half  real,  half  fan- 
tastic, had  been  disturbing  her  during  the  weeks  of  her  engage- 
ment. Was  that  agitating  experience  nullified  this  morning? 
No :  it  was  surmounted  and  thrust  down  with  a  sort  of  exult- 
ing defiance  as  she  felt  herself  standing  at  the  game  of  life 
with  many  eyes  upon  her,  daring  every  thing  to  win  much — or 
if  to  lose,  still  with  eclat  and  a  sense  of  importance.  But  this 
morning  a  losing  destiny  for  herself  did  not  press  upon  her  as 
a  fear.  She  thought  that  she  was  entering  on  a  fuller  power 
of  managing  circumstances  —  with  all  the  official  strength  of 
marriage,  which  some  women  made  so  poor  a  use  of.  That 
intoxication  of  youthful  egoism,  out  of  which  she  had  been 
shaken  by  trouble,  humiliation,  and  a  new  sense  of  culpability, 
had  returned  upon  her  under  the  newly  fed  strength  of  the  old 
fumes.     She  did  not  in  the  least  present  the  ideal  of  the  tear- 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  363 

ful,  tremulous  bride.  Poor  Gwendolen,  whom  some  had  judged 
much  too  forward  and  instructed  in  the  world's  ways ! — with 
her  erect  head  and  elastic  footstep  she  was  walking  amidst  il- 
lusions ;  and  yet,  too,  there  was  an  under-consciousness  in  her 
that  she  was  a  little  intoxicated. 

"  Thank  God  you  bear  it  so  well,  my  darling !"  said  Mrs. 
Davilow,  when  she  had  helped  Gwendolen  to  doff  her  bridal 
'white  and  put  on  her  traveling-dress.  All  the  trembling  had 
been  done  by  the  poor  mother,  and  her  agitation  urged  Gwen- 
dolen doubly  to  take  the  morning  as  if  it  were  a  triumph. 

"  Why,  you  might  have  said  that,  if  I  had  been  going  to 
Mrs.  Mompert's,  you  dear,  sad,  incorrigible  mamma!"  said 
Gwendolen,  just  putting  her  hands  to  her  mother's  cheeks  with 
laughing  tenderness — then  retreating  a  little  and  spreading  out 
her  arms  as  if  to  exhibit  herself.  "  Here  am  I — Mrs.  Grand- 
court  !  What  else  would  you  have  me,  but  what  I  am  sure  to 
be  ?  You  know  you  were  ready  to  die  with  vexation  when  you 
thought  that  I  would  not  be  Mrs.  Grandcourt." 

"  Hush,  hush,  my  child,  for  Heaven's  sake !"  said  Mrs.  Davi- 
low, almost  in  a  whisper.  "  How  can  I  help  feeling  it  when  I 
am  parting  from  you  ?  But  I  can  bear  any  thing  gladly  if  you 
are  happy." 

"  Not  gladly,  mamma,  no !"  said  Gwendolen,  shaking  her 
head,  with  a  bright  smile.  "  Willingly  you  would  bear  it,  but 
always  sorrowfully.  Sorrowing  is  your  sauce ;  you  can  take 
nothing  without  it."  Then,  clasping  her  mother's  shoulders, 
and  raining  kisses  first  on  one  cheek  and  then  on  the  other  be- 
tween her  words,  she  said,  gayly,  "And  you  shall  sorrow  over 
my  having  every  thing  at  my  beck — and  enjoying  every  thing 
gloriously  —  splendid  houses — and  horses — and  diamonds,  I 
shall  have  diamonds — and  going  to  court — and  being  Lady 
Certainly — and  Lady  Perhaps — and  grand  here — and  tantivy 
there — and  always  loving  you  better  than  anv  body  else  in  the 
world.'^ 

"My  sweet  child!  But  I  shall  not  be  jealous  if  you  love 
your  husband  better ;  and  he  will  expect  to  be  first." 

Gwendolen  thrust  out  her  lips  and  chin  with  a  pretty  gri- 
mace, saying,  "  Rather  a  ridiculous  expectation.  However,  I 
don't  mean  to  treat  him  ill,  unless  he  deserves  it." 


384  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Then  the  two  fell  into  a  clinging  embrace,  and  Gwendolen 
could  not  hinder  a  rising  sob  when  she  said,  "  I  wish  you  were 
going  with  me,  mamma." 

But  the  slight  dew  on  her  long  eyelashes  only  made  her  the 
more  charming  when  she  gave  her  hand  to  Grandcourt  to  be 
led  to  the  carriage. 

The  rector  looked  in  on  her  to  give  a  final  "  Good-bye ; 
God  bless  you !  we  shall  see  you  again  before  long,"  and  then 
returned  to  Mrs.  Davilow,  saying,  half  cheerfully,  half  solemnly : 

"  Let  us  be  thankful,  Fanny.  She  is  in  a  position  well  suit- 
ed to  her,  and  beyond  what  I  should  have  dared  to  hope  for. 
And  few  women  can  have  been  chosen  more  entirely  for  their 
own  sake.     You  should  feel  yourself  a  happy  mother." 

There  was  a  railway  journey  of  some  fifty  miles  before  the 
new  husband  and  wife  reached  the  station  near  Ryelands.  The 
sky  had  veiled  itself  since  the  morning,  and  it  was  hardly  more 
than  twilight  when  they  entered  the  park-gates ;  but  still  Gwen- 
dolen, looking  out  of  the  carriage-window  as  they  drove  rapid- 
ly along,  could  see  the  grand  outlines  and  the  nearer  beauties 
of  the  scene — the  long  winding  drive  bordered  with  evergreens 
backed  by  huge  gray  stems ;  then  the  opening  of  wide,  grassy 
spaces  and  undulations  studded  with  dark  clumps;  till  at  last 
came  a  wide  level  where  the  white  house  could  be  seen,  with  a 
hanging  wood  for  a  background,  and  the  rising  and  sinking 
balustrade  of  a  terrace  in  front. 

Gwendolen  had  been  at  her  liveliest  during  the  journey,  chat- 
ting incessantly,  ignoring  any  change  in  their  mutual  position 
since  yesterday ;  and  Grandcourt  had  been  rather  ecstatically 
quiescent,  while  she  turned  his  gentle  seizure  of  her  hand  into 
a  grasp  of  his  hand  by  both  hers,  with  an  increased  vivacity  as 
of  a  kitten  that  will  not  sit  quiet  to  be  petted.  She  was  really 
getting  somewhat  febrile  in  her  excitement ;  and  now  in  this 
drive  through  the  park  her  usual  susceptibility  to  changes  of 
light  and  scenery  helped  to  make  her  heart  palpitate  newly. 
Was  it  at  the  novelty  simply,  or  the  almost  incredible  fulfill- 
ment about  to  be  given  to  her  girlish  dreams  of  being  "  some- 
body " — walking  through  her  own  furlong  of  corridors  and  un- 
der her  own  ceilings  of  an  out-of-sight  loftiness,  where  her  own 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  365 

painted  Spring  was  shedding  painted  flowers,  and  her  own  fore- 
shortened Zephyrs  were  blowing  their  trumpets  over  her ;  while 
her  own  servants,  lackeys  in  clothing,  but  men  in  bulk  and 
shape,  were  as  naught  in  her  presence,  and  revered  the  proprie- 
ty of  her  insolence  to  them — being,  in  short,  the  heroine  of  an 
admired  play  without  the  pains  of  art  ?  Was  it  alone  the  close- 
ness of  this  fulfillment  which  made  her  heart  flutter  ?  or  was  it 
some  dim  forecast,  the  insistent  penetration  of  suppressed  ex- 
perience, mixing  the  expectation  of  a  triumph  with  the  dread 
of  a  crisis?  Hers  was  one  of  the  natures  in  which  exultation 
inevitably  carries  an  infusion  of  dread  ready  to  curdle  and  de- 
clare itself. 

She  fell  silent  in  spite  of  herself  as  they  approached  the 
gates,  and  when  her  husband  said,  "  Here  we  are  at  home !" 
and  for  the  first  time  kissed  her  on  the  lips,  she  hardly  knew 
of  it :  it  was  no  more  than  the  passive  acceptance  of  a  greet- 
ing in  the  midst  of  an  absorbing  show.  Was  not  all  her  hur- 
rying life  of  the  last  three  months  a  show,  in  which  her  con- 
sciousness was  a  wondering  spectator?  After  the  half-willful 
excitement  of  the  day,  a  numbness  had  come  over  her  person- 
ality. 

But  there  was  a  brilliant  light  in  the  hall — warmth,  matting, 
carpets,  full-length  portraits,  Olympian  statues,  assiduous  serv- 
ants. Not  many  servants,  however :  only  a  few  from  Diplow 
in  addition  to  those  constantly  in  charge  of  the  house;  and 
Gwendolen's  new  maid,  who  had  come  with  her,  was  taken  un- 
der guidance  by  the  housekeeper.  Gwendolen  felt  herself  be- 
ing led  by  Grandcourt  along  a  subtly  scented  corridor,  then 
into  an  anteroom  where  she  saw  an  open  door-way  sending  out 
a  rich  glow  of  light  and  color. 

"  These  are  our  dens,"  said  Grandcourt.  "  You  will  like  to 
be  quiet  here  till  dinner.     We  shall  dine  early." 

He  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips  and  moved  away,  more  in 
love  than  he  had  ever  expected  to  be. 

Gwendolen,  yielding  up  her  hat  and  mantle,  threw  herself 
into  a  chair  by  the  glowing  hearth,  and  saw  herself  repeated  in 
glass  panels  with  all  her  faint-green  satin  surroundinfys.  The 
housekeeper  had  passed  into  this  boudoir  from  the  adjoin- 
ing dressing-room,  and  seemed  disposed  to  linger,  Gwendolen 


366  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

tlioiiglit,  in  order  to  look  at  the  new  mistress  of  Ryelands,  who, 
however,  being  impatient  for  solitude,  said  to  her,  "  Will  you 
tell  Hudson  when  she  has  put  out  my  dress  to  leave  every 
thing  ?     I  shall  not  want  her  again,  unless  I  ring." 

The  housekeeper,  coming  forward,  said,  "  Here  is  a  packet, 
madam,  which  I  was  ordered  to  give  into  nobody's  hands  but 
yours,  when  you  were  alone.  The  person  who  brought  it  said 
it  was  a  present  particularly  ordered  by  Mr.  Grandcourt ;  but 
he  was  not  to  know  of  its  arrival  till  he  saw  you  wear  it.  Ex- 
cuse me,  madam ;  I  felt  it  right  to  obey  orders." 

Gwendolen  took  the  packet,  and  let  it  lie  on  her  lap  till  she 
heard  the  doors  close.  It  came  into  her  mind  that  the  packet 
might  contain  the  diamonds  which  Grandcourt  had  spoken  of 
as  being  deposited  somewhere,  and  to  be  given  to  her  on  her 
marriage.  In  this  moment  of  confused  feeling,  and  creeping, 
luxurious  languor,  she  was  glad  of  this  diversion — glad  of  such 
an  event  as  having  her  own  diamonds  to  try  on. 

Within  all  the  sealed  paper  coverings  was  a  box,  but  within 
the  box  there  was  a  jewel-case ;  and  now  she  felt  no  doubt  that 
she  had  the  diamonds.  But  on  opening  the  case,  in  the  same 
instant  that  she  saw  their  gleam  she  saw  a  letter  lying  above 
them.  She  knew  the  handwriting  of  the  address.  It  was  as  if 
an  adder  had  lain  on  them.  Her  heart  gave  a  leap  which  seem- 
ed to  have  spent  all  her  strength  ;  and  as  she  opened  the  bit  of 
thin  paper,  it  shook  with  the  trembling  of  her  hands.  But  it 
was  legible  as  print,  and  thrust  its  words  upon  her : 

"These  diamonds,  which  w^ere  once  given  with  ardent  love 
to  Lydia  Glasher,  she  passes  on  to  you.  You  have  broken 
your  word  to  her,  that  you  might  possess  what  was  hers.  Per- 
haps you  think  of  being  happy,  as  she  once  was,  and  of  hav- 
ing beautiful  children  such  as  hers,  who  will  thrust  hers  aside. 
God  is  too  just  for  that.  The  man  you  have  married  has  a 
withered  heart.  His  best  young  love  was  mine ;  you  could 
not  take  that  from  me  when  you  took  the  rest.  It  is  dead ; 
but  I  am  the  grave  in  which  your  chance  of  happiness  is  buried 
as  well  as  mine.  You  had  your  warning.  You  have  chosen 
to  injure  me  and  my  children.  He  had  meant  to  marry  me. 
He  would  have  married  me  at  last,  if  you  had  not  broken  youi 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  367 

word.     You  will  have  your  punishment.     I  desire  it  with  all 
my  soul. 

"  Will  you  give  him  this  letter  to  set  him  against  me  and 
ruin  us  more — me  and  my  children  ?  Shall  you  like  to  stand 
before  your  husband  with  these  diamonds  on  you,  and  these 
words  of  mine  in  his  thoughts  and  yours  ?  Will  he  think  you 
have  any  right  to  complain  when  he  has  made  you  miserable  ? 
You  took  him  with  your  eyes  open.  The  willing  wrong  you 
have  done  me  will  be  your  curse." 

It  seemed  at  first  as  if  Gwendolen's  eyes  were  spell-bound  in 
reading  the  horrible  words  of  the  letter  over  and  over  again  as 
a  doom  of  penance ;  but  suddenly  a  new  spasm  of  terror  made 
her  lean  forward  and  stretch  out  the  paper  toward  the  fire,  lest 
accusation  and  proof  at  once  should  meet  all  eyes.  It  flew  like 
a  feather  from  her  trembling  fingers  and  was  caught  up  in  the 
great  draught  of  flame.  In  her  movement  the  casket  fell  on 
the  floor  and  the  diamonds  rolled  out.  She  took  no  notice, 
but  fell  back  in  her  chair  again  helpless.  She  could  not  sec 
the  reflections,  of  herself  then :  they  were  like  so  many  women 
petrified  white ;  but  coming  near  herself  you  might  have  seen 
the  tremor  in  her  lips  and  hands.  She  sat  so  for  a  long  while, 
knowinor  little  more  than  that  she  was  feelinsf  ill,  and  that  those 
written  words  kept  repeating  themselves  in  her. 

Truly  here  were  poisoned  gems,  and  the  poison  had  entered 
into  this  poor  young  creature. 

After  that  long  while,  there  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  Grand- 
court  entered,  dressed  for  dinner.  The  sight  of  him  brought  a 
new  nervous  shock,  and  Gwendolen  screamed  again  and  again 
with  hysterical  violence.  He  had  expected  to  see  her  dressed 
and  smiling,  ready  to  be  led  down.  He  saw  her  pallid,  shriek- 
ing as  it  seemed  with  terror,  the  jewels  scattered  around  her  on 
the  floor.  Was  it  a  fit  of  madness  ? 
.     In  some  form  or  other  the  Furies  had  crossed  his  threshold. 


368  DANIEL    DERONDA. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"  In  all  ages  it  hath  been  a  favorite  text  that  a  potent  love  hath  the  nat- 
ure of  an  isolated  fatality,  whereto  the  mind's  opinions  and  wonted  resolves 
are  altogethet"  alien ;  as,  for  example,  Daphnis  his  frenzy,  wherein  it  had 
little  availed  him  to  have  been  convinced  of  Heraclitus  his  doctrine ;  or  the 
philtre-bred  passion  of  Tristan,  who,  though  he  had  been  as  deep  as  Duns 
Scotus,  would  have  had  his  reasoning  marred  by  that  cup  too  much ;  or 
Romeo  in  his  sudden  taking  for  Juliet,  wherein  any  objections  he  might 
have  held  against  Ptolemy  had  made  little  difference  to  his  discourse  under 
the  balcony.  Yet  all  love  is  not  such,  even  though  potent.  Nay,  this  pas- 
sion hath  as  large  scope  as  any  for  allying  itself  with  every  operation  of 
the  soul :  so  that  it  shall  acknowledge  an  effect  from  the  imagined  light  of 
unproven  firmaments,  and  have  its  scale  set  to  the  grander  orbits  of  what 
hath  been  and  shall  be." 

Deronda,  on  his  return  to  town,  could  assure  Sir  Hugo  of 
liis  having  lodged  in  Grandcourt's  mind  a  distinct  understand- 
ing that  he  could  get  fifty  thousand  pounds  by  giving  up  a 
prospect  which  was  probably  distant,  and  not  absolutely  cer- 
tain ;  but  he  had  no  further  sign  of  Grandcourt's  disposition 
in  the  matter  than  that  he  was  evidently  inclined  to  keep  up 
friendly  communications. 

"And  what  did  you  think  of  the  future  bride  on  a  nearer 
survey  ?"  said  Sir  Hugo. 

"  I  thought  better  of  her  than  I  did  at  Leubronn.  Roulette 
was  not  a  good  setting  for  her — it  brought  out  something  of 
the  demon.  At  Diplow  she  seemed  much  more  womanly  and 
attractive — less  hard  and  self-possessed.  I  thought  her  mouth 
and  eyes  had  quite  a  different  expression." 

"  Don't  flirt  with  her  too  much,  Dan,"  said  Sir  Hugo,  mean- 
ing to  be  agreeably  playful.  "  If  you  make  Grandcourt  savage, 
when  they  come  to  the  Abbey  at  Christmas,  it  will  interfere 
with  my  affairs." 

"  I  can  stay  in  town,  sir." 

"  No,  no.  Lady  Mallinger  and  the  children  can't  do  without 
you  at  Christmas.     Only  don't  make  mischief — unless  you  can 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  369 

get  up  a  duel,  and  manage  to  shoot  Grandcourt,  which  might 
be  worth  a  little  inconvenience." 

"  I  don't  think  you  ever  saw  me  flirt,"  said  Deronda,  not 
amused. 

*'  Oh,  haven't  I,  though  ?"  said  Sir  Hugo,  provokingly.  "  You 
are  always  looking  tenderly  at  the  women,  and  talking  to  them 
in  a  Jesuitical  way.  You  are  a  dangerous  young  fellow — a 
kind  of  Lovelace  who  will  make  the  Clarissas  run  after  you  in- 
stead of  your  running  after  them." 

What  was  the  use  of  being  exasperated  at  a  tasteless  joke? 
only  the  exasperation  comes  before  the  reflection  on  utility. 
Few  friendly  remarks  are  more  annoying  than  the  information 
that  we  are  always  seeming  to  do  what  we  never  mean  to  do. 
Sir  Hugo's  notion  of  flirting,  it  was  to  be  hoped,  was  rather 
peculiar.  For  his  own  part,  Deronda  was  sure  that  he  had 
never  flirted.  But  he  was  glad  that  the  baronet  had  no  knowl- 
edge about  the  redemption  of  Gwendolen's  necklace  to  feed  his 
taste  for  this  kind  of  rallying. 

He  would  be  on  his  guard  in  future ;  for  example,  in  his  be- 
havior at  Mrs.  Meyrick's,  where  he  was  about  to  pay  his  first 
visit  since  his  arrival  from  Leubronn.  For  Mirah  was  certain- 
ly a  creature  in  whom  it  was  difficult  not  to  show  a  tender 
kind  of  interest  both  by  looks  and  speech. 

Mrs.  Meyrick  had  not  failed  to  send  Deronda  a  report  of 
Mirah's  well-being  in  her  family.  "  We  are  getting  fonder  of 
her  every  day,"  she  had  written.  "  At  breakfast-time  we  all 
look  toward  the  door  with  expectation  to  see  her  come  in ;  and 
we  watch  her  and  listen  to  her  as  if  she  were  a  native  from 
a  new  country.  I  have  not  heard  a  word  from  her  lips  that 
gives  me  a  doubt  about  her.  She  is  quite  contented  and  full 
of  gratitude.  My  daughters  are  learning  from  her,  and  they 
hope  to  get  her  other  pupils ;  for  she  is  anxious  not  to  eat  the 
bread  of  idleness,  but  to  work,  like  my  girls.  Mab  says  our 
life  has  become  like  a  fairy  tale,  and  all  she  is  afraid  of  is  that 
Mirah  will  turn  into  a  nightingale  again  and  fly  away  from  us. 
Her  voice  is  just  perfect ;  not  loud  and  strong,  but  searching 
and  melting,  like  the  thoughts  of  what  has  been.  That  is  the 
way  old  people  like  me  feel  a  beautiful  voice." 

But  Mrs.  Meyrick  did  not  enter  into  particulars  which  would 
16* 


370  .       DANIEL    DERONDA. 

have  required  lier  to  say  that  Amy  and  Mab,  who  had  accom- 
panied Mirah  to  the  synagogue,  found  the  Jewish  faith  less  rec- 
oncilable with  their  wishes  in  her  case  than  in  that  of  Scott's 
Rebecca.  They  kept  silence  out  of  delicacy  to  Mirah,  with 
whom  her  religion  was  too  tender  a  subject  to  be  touched 
lightly ;  but  after  a  while,  Amy,  who  was  much  of  a  practical 
reformer,  could  not  restrain  a  question. 

"  Excuse  me,  Mirah,  but  does  it  seem  quite  right  to  you  that 
the  women  should  sit  behind  rails  in  a  gallejy  apart  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  never  thought  of  any  thing  else,"  said  Mirah,  with 
mild  surprise. 

"  And  you  like  better  to  see  the  men  with  their  hats  on  ?" 
said  Mab,  cautiously  proposing  the  smallest  item  of  difference. 

"  Oh  yes.  I  like  what  I  have  always  seen  there,  because  it 
brings  back  to  me  the  same  feelings — the  feelings  I  would  not 
part  with  for  any  thing  else  in  the  world." 

After  this,  any  criticism,  whether  of  doctrine  or  of  practice, 
would  have  seemed  to  these  generous  little  people  an  inhospita- 
ble cruelty.  Mirah's  religion  was  of  one  fibre  with  her  affections, 
and  had  never  presented  itself  to  her  as  a  set  of  propositions. 

"  She  says  herself  she  is  a  very  bad  Jewess,  and  does  not 
half  know  her  people's  religion,"  said  Amy,  when  Mirah  was 
gone  to  bed.  "  Perhaps  it  would  gradually  melt  away  from 
her,  and  she  would  pass  into  Christianity  like  the  rest  of  the 
world,  if  she  got  to  love  us  very  much,  and  never  found  her 
mother.     It  is  so  strange  to  be  of  the  Jews'  religion  now." 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh !"  cried  Mab.  "  I  wish  I  were  not  such  a  Hide- 
ous Christian.  How  can  an  ugly  Christian,  who  is  always 
dropping  her  work,  convert  a  beautiful  Jewess,  who  has  not  a 
fault?" 

"  It  may  be  wicked  of  me,"  said  shrewd  Kate,  "  but  I  can 
not  help  wishing  that  her  mother  may  not  be  found.  There 
might  be  something  unpleasant." 

"  I  don't  think  it,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick.  "  I  believe 
Mirah  is  cut  out  after  the  pattern  of  her  mother.  And  what 
a  joy  it  would  be  to  her  to  have  such  a  daughter  brought  back 
again !  But  a  mother's  feelings  are  not  worth  reckoning,  I 
suppose"  (she  shot  a  mischievous  glance  at  her  own  daugh- 
ters), "  and  a  dead  mother  is  worth  more  than  a  living  one  ?" 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  37l 

"  Well,  and  so  she  may  be,  little  motlier,"  said  Kate ;  "  but 
we  would  rather  hold  you  cheaper,  and  have  you  alive." 

Not  only  the  Meyricks,  whose  various  knowledge  had  been 
acquired  by  the  irregular  foraging  to  which  clever  girls  have 
usually  been  reduced,  but  Deronda  himself,  with  all  his  mascu- 
line instruction,  had  been  roused  by  this  apparition  of  Mirah  to 
the  consciousness  of  knowing  hardly  any  thing  about  modern 
Judaism  or  the  inner  Jewish  history.  The  Chosen  People  have 
been  commonly  treated  as  a  people  chosen  for  the  sake  of  some- 
body else  ;  and  their  thinking  as  something  (no  matter  exactly 
what)  that  ought  to  have  been  entirely  otherwise ;  and  Deron- 
da, like  his  neighbors,  had  regarded  Judaism  as  a  sort  of  eccen- 
tric fossilized  form,  which  an  accomplished  man  might  dispense 
with  studying,  and  leave  to  specialists.  But  Mirah,  with  her 
terrified  flight  from  one  parent,  and  her  yearning  after  the  oth- 
er, had  flashed  on  him  the  hitherto  neglected  reality  that  Juda- 
ism was  something  still  throbbing  in  human  lives,  still  making 
for  them  the  only  conceivable  vesture  of  the  world ;  and  in  the 
idling  excursion  on  which  he  immediately  afterward  set  out 
with  Sir  Hugo,  he  began  to  look  for  the  outsides  of  syna- 
gogues, and  the  titles  of  books  about  the  Jews.  This  waken- 
ing of  a  new  interest — this  passing  from  the  supposition  that 
we  hold  the  right  opinions  on  a  subject  we  are  careless  about, 
to  a  sudden  care  for  it,  and  a  sense  that  our  opinions  were  ig- 
norance—  is  an  effectual  remedy  for  ennui,  which  unhappily 
can  not  be  secured  on  a  physician's  prescription ;  but  Deronda 
had  carried  it  with  him,  and  endured  his  weeks  of  lounging  all 
the  better.  It  was  on  this  journey  that  he  first  entered  a  Jew- 
ish synagogue — at  Frankfort — where  his  party  rested  on  a  Fri- 
day. In  exploring  the  Juden  gasse,  which  he  had  seen  long 
before,  he  remembered  well  enough  its  picturesque  old  houses. 
What  his  eyes  chiefly  dwelt  on  now  were  the  human  types 
there;  and  his  thought,  busily  connecting  them  with  the  past 
phases  of  their  race,  stirred  that  fibre  of  historic  sympathy 
which  had  helped  to  determine  in  him  certain  traits  wortl^ 
mentioning  for  those  who  are  interested  in  his  future.  True, 
when  a  young  man  has  a  fine  person,  no  eccentricity  of  mau' 
ners,  the  education  of  a  gentleman,  and  a  present  income,  it  is 
not  customary  to  feel   a  prying  curiosity  about  li'is  way  of 


372  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

thinking,  or  his  peculiar  tastes.  He  may  very  well  be  settled 
in  life  as  an  agreeable,  clever  young  fellow  without  passing  a 
special  examination  on  those  heads.  Later,  when  he  is  getting 
rather  slovenly  and  portly,  his  peculiarities  are  more  distinctly 
discerned,  and  it  is  taken  as  a  mercy  if  they  are  not  highly  ob- 
jectionable. But  any  one  wishing  to  understand  the  effect  of 
after-events  on  Deronda  should  know  a  little  more  of  what  he 
was  at  five -and -twenty  than  was  evident  in  ordinary  inter- 
course. 

It  happened  that  the  very  vividness  of  his  impressions  had 
often  made  him  the  more  enigmatic  to  his  friends,  and  had 
contributed  to  an  apparent  indefiniteness  in  his  sentiments. 
His  early  wakened  sensibility  and  reflectiveness  had  developed 
into  a  many-sided  sympathy,  which  threatened  to  hinder  any 
persistent  course  of  action.  As  soon  as  he  took  up  any  antag- 
onism, though  only  in  thought,  he  seemed  to  himself  like  the 
Sabine  warriors  in  the  memorable  story — with  nothing  to  meet 
his  spear  but  flesh  of  his  flesh,  and  objects  that  he  loved.  His 
imagination  had  so  wrought  itself  to  the  habit  of  seeing  things 
as  they  probably  appeared  to  others,  that  a  strong  partisanship, 
unless  it  were  against  an  immediate  oppression,  had  become  an 
insincerity  for  him.  His  plenteous,  flexible  sympathy  had  end- 
ed by  falling  into  one  current  with  that  reflective  analysis 
which  tends  to  neutralize  sympathy.  Few  men  were  able  to 
keep  themselves  clearer  of  vices  than  he ;  yet  he  hated  vices 
mildly,  being  used  to  think  of  them  less  in  the  abstract  than  as 
a  part  of  mixed  human  natures  having  an  individual  history, 
which  it  was  the  bent  of  his  mind  to  trace  with  understanding 
and  pity.  With  the  same  innate  balance  he  was  fervidly  dem- 
ocratic in  his  feeling  for  the  multitude,  and  yet,  through  his  af- 
fections and  imagination,  intensely  conservative ;  voracious  of 
speculations  on  government  and  religion,  yet  loath  to  part  with 
long-sanctioned  forms  which,  for  him,  were  quick  with  mem- 
ories and  sentiments  that  no  argument  could  lay  dead.  We 
fall  on  the  leaning  side;  and  Deronda  suspected  himself  of 
loving  too  well  the  losing  causes  of  the  world.  Martyrdom 
changes  sides,  and  he  was  in  danger  of  changing  with  it,  hav- 
ing a  strong  repugnance  to  taking  up  that  clue  of  success 
which  the  ordej*  of  the  world  often  forces  upon  us  and  paakes 


BOOK    IV. G^WENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  373 

it  treason  against  the  common  weal  to  reject.  And  yet  his 
fear  of  falling  into  an  unreasoning,  narrow  hatred  made  a  check 
for  him.  He  apologized  for  the  heirs  of  privilege ;  he  shrunk 
with  dislike  from  the  loser's  bitterness  and  the  denunciatory- 
tone  of  the  unaccepted  innovator.  A  too  reflective  and  diffu- 
sive sympathy  was  in  danger  of  paralyzing  in  him  that  indig- 
nation against  wrong  and  that  selectness  of  fellowship  which 
are  the  conditions  of  moral  force ;  and  in  the  last  few  years 
of  confirmed  manhood  he  had  become  so  keenly  aware  of  this 
that  what  he  most  longed  for  was  either  some  external  event, 
or  some  inward  light,  that  would  urge  him  into  a  definite  line 
of  action,  and  compress  his  wandering  energy.  He  was  ceas- 
ing to  care  for  knowledge — he  had  no  ambition  for  practice — 
unless  they  could  both  be  gathered  up  into  one  current  with 
his  emotions ;  and  he  dreaded,  as  if  it  were  a  dwelling-place  of 
lost  souls,  that  dead  anatomy  of  culture  which  turns  the  uni- 
verse into  a  mere  ceaseless  answer  to  queries,  and  knows,  not 
every  thing,  but  every  thing  else  about  every  thing — as  if  one 
should  be  ignorant  of  nothing  concerning  the  scent  of  violets 
except  the  scent  itself  for  which  one  had  no  nostril.  But  how 
and  whence  was  the  needed  event  to  come  ? — the  influence  that 
would  justify  partiality,  and  make  him  what  he  longed  to  be, 
yet  was  unable  to  make  himself — an  organic  part  of  social  life, 
instead  of  roaming  in  it  like  a  yearning  disembodied  spirit, 
stirred  with  a  vague  social  passion,  but  without  fixed  local  hab- 
itation to  render  fellowship  real  ?  To  make  a  little  difference 
for  the  better  was  what  he  was  not  contented  to  live  without ; 
but  how  make  it?  It  is  one  thing  to  see  your  road,  another 
to  cut  it.  He  found  some  of  the  fault  in  his  birth  and  the 
way  he  had  been  brought  up,  which  had  laid  no  special  de- 
mands on  him  and  given  hkn  no  fixed  relationship  except  one 
of  a  doubtful  kind ;  but  he  did  not  attempt  to  hide  from  him- 
self that  he  had  fallen  into  a  meditative  numbness,  and  was 
gliding  farther  and  farther  from  that  life  of  practically  ener- 
getic sentiment  which  he  would  have  proclaimed  (if  he  had 
been  inclined  to  proclaim  any  thing)  to  be  the  best  of  all  life, 
and  for  himself  the  only  life  worth  living.  He  wanted  some 
way  of  keeping  emotion  and  its  progeny  of  sentiments — which 
make  the  savors  of  life — substantial  and  strong,  in  the  face  of 


374  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

a  reflectiveness  that  threatened  to  nullify  all  differences.  To 
pound  the  objects  of  sentiment  into  small  dust,  yet  keep  senti- 
ment alive  and  active,  was  something  like  the  famous  recipe 
for  making  cannon — to  first  take  a  round  hole  and  then  inclose 
it  with  iron ;  whatever  you  do,  keeping  fast  hold  of  your  round 
hole.  Yet  how  distinguish  what  our  will  may  wisely  save  in 
its  completeness  from  the  heaping  of  cat-mummies  and  the  ex- 
pensive cult  of  enshrined  putrefactions  ? 

Something  like  this  was  the  common  under-current  in  De- 
ronda's  mind,  while  he  was  reading  law,  or  imperfectly  attend- 
ing to  polite  conversation.  Meanwhile  he  had  not  set  about 
one  function  in  particular  with  zeal  and  steadiness.  Not  an 
admirable  experience,  to  be  proposed  as  an  ideal ;  but  a  form 
of  struggle  before  break  of  day  which  some  young  men  since 
the  patriarch  have  had  to  pass  through,  with  more  or  less  of 
bruising,  if  not  laming. 

I  have  said  that  under  his  calm  exterior  he  had  a  fervor 
which  made  him  easily  feel  the  presence  of  poetry  in  every-day 
events ;  and  the  forms  of  the  Juden-gasse,  rousing  the  sense  of 
union  with  what  is  remote,  set  him  musing  on  two  elements  of 
our  historic  life  which  that  sense  raises  into  the  same  region 
of  poetry :  the  faint  beginnings  of  faiths  and  institutions,  and 
their  obscure,  lingering  decay ;  the  dust  and  withered  remnants 
with  which  they  are  apt  to  be  covered,  only  enhancing  for  the 
awakened  perception  the  impressiveness  either  of  a  sublimely 
penetrating  life,  as  in  the  twin  green  leaves  that  will  become 
the  sheltering  tree,  or  of  a  pathetic  inheritance  in  which  all  the 
grandeur  and  the  glory  have  become  a  sorrowing  memory. 

This  imaginative  stirring,  as  he  turned  out  of  the  Juden- 
gasse,  and  continued  to  saunter  in  the  warm  evening  air,  mean- 
ing to  find  his  way  to  the  synagogue,  neutralized  the  repellent 
effect  of  certain  ugly  little  incidents  on  his  way.  Turning  into 
an  old  book-shop  to  ask  the  exact  time  of  service  at  the  syn- 
agogue, he  was  affectionately  directed  by  a  precocious  Jewish 
youth,  who  entered  cordially  into  his  wanting,  not  the  fine  new 
building  of  the  Reformed,  but  the  old  Rabbinical  school  of  the 
orthodox ;  and  then  cheated  him  like  a  pure  Teuton,  only  with 
more  amenity,  in  his  charge  for  a  book  quite  out  of  request  as 
one  "  nicht  so  leicht  zu  bekommen."     Meanwhile,  at  the  oppo- 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  375 

site  counter  a  deaf  and  grisly  tradesman  was  casting  a  flinty 
look  at  certain  cards,  apparently  combining  advantages  of  busi- 
ness with  religion,  and  shoutingly  proposed  to  liim  in  Jew  dia- 
lect by  a  dingy  man  in  a  tall  coat  hanging  from  neck  to  heel, 
a  bag  in  hand,  and  a  broad  low  hat  surmounting  his  chosen 
nose,  who  had  no  sooner  disappeared  than  another  dingy  man 
of  the  same  pattern  issued  from  the  backward  glooms  of  the 
shop,  and  also  shouted  in  the  same  dialect.  In  fact,  Deronda 
saw  various  queer -looking  Israelites  not  altogether  without 
guile,  and  just  distinguishable  from  queer-looking  Christians  of 
the  same  mixed  morale.  In  his  anxiety  about  Mirah's  relatives, 
he  had  lately  been  thinking  of  vulgar  Jews  with  a  sort  of  per- 
sonal alarm.  But  a  little  comparison  will  often  diminish  our 
surprise  and  disgust  at  the  aberrations  of  Jews  and  other  dis- 
sidents whose  lives  do  not  offer  a  consistent  or  lovely  pattern 
of  their  creed ;  and  this  evening  Deronda,  becoming  more  con- 
scious that  he  was  falling  into  unfairness  and  ridiculous  exag- 
geration, began  to  use  that  corrective  comparison.  He  paid  his 
thaler  too  much,  without  prejudice  to  his  interest  in  the  He- 
brew destiny,  or  his  wish  to  find  the  Rahbinische  Schule,  which 
he  arrived  at  by  sunset,  and  entered  with  a  good  congregation 
of  men. 

He  happened  to  take  his  seat  in  a  line  with  an  elderly  man 
from  whom  he  was  distant  enough  to  glance  at  him  more  than 
once  as  rather  a  noticeable  figure— his  ordinary  clothes,  as  well 
as  the  talith,  or  white  blue-fringed  kind  of  blanket,  which  is  the 
garment  of  prayer,  being  much  worn ;  while  his  ample  white 
beard  and  old  felt  hat  framed  a  profile  of  that  fine  contour 
which  may  as  easily  be  Italian  as  Hebrew.  He  returned  De- 
ronda's  notice  till  a^  last  their  eyes  met :  an  undesirable  chance 
with  unknown  persons,  and  a  reason  to  Deronda  for  not  look- 
ing again ;  but  he  immediately  found  an  open  prayer  -  book 
pushed  toward  him  and  had  to  bow  his  thanks.  However,  the 
white  talitks  had  mustered,  the  reader  had  mounted  to  the  al- 
memor,  or  platform,  and  the  service  began.  Deronda,  having 
looked  enough  at  the  German  translation  of  the  Hebrew  in  the 
book  before  him  to  know  that  he  was  chiefly  hearing  Psalms 
and  Old  Testament  passages  or  phrases,  gave  himself  up  to  that 
strongest  effect  of  chanted  liturgies  which  is  independent  of 


376  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

detailed  verbal  meaning — like  the  effect  of  an  Allegri's  Miserere 
or  a  Palestrina's  Magnificat.  The  most  powerful  movement 
of  feeling  with  a  liturgy  is  the  prayer  which  seeks  for  nothing 
special,  but  is  a  yearning  to  escape  from  the  limitations  of  our 
own  weakness  and  an  invocation  of  all  Good  to  enter  and  abide 
with  us ;  or  else  a  self -oblivious  lifting-up  of  gladness,  a  Gloria 
in  excelsis  that  such  Good  exists ;  both  the  yearning  and  the 
exultation  gathering  their  utmost  force  from  the  sense  of  com- 
munion in  a  form  which  has  expressed  them  both,  for  long 
generations  of  struggling  fellow-men.  The  Hebrew  liturgy, 
like  others,  has  its  transitions  of  litany,  lyric,  proclamation, 
dry  statement,  and  blessing ;  but  this  evening  all  were  one  for 
Deronda.  The  chant  of  the  Chazan^s,  or  reader's,  grand  wide- 
ranging  voice,  with  its  passage  from  monotony  to  sudden  cries ; 
the  outburst  of  sweet  boys'  voices  from  the  little  choir ;  the  de- 
votional swaying  of  men's  bodies  backward  and  forward ;  the 
very  commonness  of  the  building  and  shabbiness  of  the  scene 
where  a  national  faith,  which  had  penetrated  the  thinking  of 
half  the  world,  and  molded  the  splendid  forms  of  that  world's 
religion,  was  finding  a  remote,  obscure  echo — all  were  blent  for 
him  as  one  expression  of  a  binding  history,  tragic  and  yet  glo- 
rious. He  wondered  at  the  strength  of  his  own  feeling;  it 
seemed  beyond  the  occasion — what  one  might  imagine  to  be  a 
divine  influx  in  the  darkness  before  there  was  any  vision  to  in- 
terpret. The  whole  scene  was  a  coherent  strain,  its  burden  a 
passionate  regret,  which,  if  he  had  known  the  liturgy  for  the 
Day  of  Reconciliation,  he  might  have  clad  in  its  antithetic  bur- 
den :  "  Happy  the  eye  which  saw  all  these  things ;  but  verily 
to  hear  only  of  them  afflicts  our  soul.  -»  Happy  the  eye  that  saw 
our  temple  and  the  joy  of  our  congregation ;  but  verily  to  hear 
only  of  them  afflicts  our  soul.  Happy  the  eye  that  saw  the 
fingers  when  tuning  every  kind  of  song;  but  verily  to  hear 
only  of  them  afflicts  our  soul." 

But  with  the  cessation  of  the  devotional  sounds  and  the 
movement  of  many  indifferent  faces  and  vulgar  figures  before 
him,  there  darted  into  his  mind  the  frigid  idea  that  he  had 
probably  been  alone  in  his  feeling,  and  perhaps  the  only  per- 
son in  the  congregation  for  whom  the  service  was  more  than  a 
dull  routine.     There  was  just  time  for  this  chilling  thought  be- 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    IIER    CHOICE.  377 

fore  he  had  bowed  to  his  civil  neighbor  and  was  moving  away 
with  the  rest — when  he  felt  a  hand  on  his  arm,  and  turning 
with  i\\&  rather  unpleasant  sensation  which  this  abrupt  sort  of 
claim  is  apt  to  bring,  he  saw  close  to  him  the  white-bearded 
face  of  that  neighbor,  who  said  to  him  in  German,  "Excuse 
me,  young  gentleman  —  allow  me. —  what  is  your  parentage — 
your  mother's  family — her  maiden  iiame  ?" 

Deronda  had  a  strongly  resistant  feeling,  lie  was  inclined^ 
to  shake  off  hastily  the  touch  on  his  arm  ;  but  he  managed  to 
slip  it  away,  and  said,  coldly,  "  I  am  an  Englishman." 

The  questioner  looked  at  him  dubiously  still  for  an  instant, 
then  just  lifted  his  hat  and  turned  away  —  whether  under  a 
sense  of  having  made  a  mistake  or  of  having  been  repulsed, 
Deronda  was  uncertain.  In  his  walk  back  to  the  hotel  he  tried 
to  still  any  uneasiness  on  the  subject  by  reflecting  that  he  could 
not  have  acted  differently.  How  could  he  say  that  he  did  not 
know  the  name  of  his  mother's  family  to  that  total  stranger? 
who,  indeed,  had  taken  an  unwarrantable  liberty  in  the  abrupt- 
ness of  his  question,  dictated  probably  by  some  fancy  of  like- 
ness such  as  often  occurs  without  real  significance.  The  in- 
cident, he  said  to  himself,  was  trivial ;  but  whatever  import  it 
might  have,  his  inward  shrinking  on  the  occasion  was  too 
strong  for  him  to  be  sorry  that  he  had  cut  it  short.  It  was  a 
reason,  however,  for  his  not  mentioning  the  synagogue  to  the 
Mallingers — in  addition  to  his  usual  inclination  to  reticence  on 
any  thing  that  the  baronet  would  have  been  likely  to  call  Quix- 
otic enthusiasm.  Hardly  any  man  could  be  more  good-natured 
than  Sir  Hugo  ;  indeed,  in  his  kindliness,  especially  to  women, 
he  did  actions  which  others  would  have  called  romantic ;  but 
he  never  took  a  romantic  view  of  them,  and  in  general  smiled 
at  the  introduction  of  motives  on  a  grand  scale,  or  of  reasons 
that  lay  very  far  off.  This  was  the  point  of  strongest  differ- 
ence between  him  and  Deronda,  who  rarely  eat  his  breakfast 
without  some  silent,  discursive  flight  after  grounds  for  filling 
up  his  day  according  to  the  practice  of  his  contemporaries. 

This  halt  at  Frankfort  was  taken  on  their  way  home,  and  its 
impressions  were  kept  the  more  actively  vibrating  in  him  by 
the  duty  of  caring  for  Mirah's  welfare.  That  question  about 
his  parentage,  which  if  he  had  not  both  inwardly  and  outward- 


378  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

]y  shaken  it  off  as  trivial,  would  have  seemed  a  threat  rather 
than  a  promise  of  revelation,  had  re-enforced  his  anxiety  as  to 
the  effect  of  finding  Mirah's  relatives  and  his  resolvS  to  pro- 
ceed with  caution.  If  he  made  any  unpleasant  discovery,  was 
he  bound  to  a  disclosure  that  might  cast  a  new  net  of  trouble 
around  her  ? 

He  had  written  to  Mrs.  Meyrick  to  announce  his  visit  at  four 
o'clock,  and  he  found  Mirah  seated  at  work  with  only  Mrs. 
Meyrick  and  Mab,  the  open  piano,  and  all  the  glorious  com- 
pany of  engravings.  The  dainty  neatness  of  her  hair  and 
dress,  the  glow  of  tranquil  happiness  in  a  face  where  a  paintet 
need  have  changed  nothing  if  he  had  wanted  to  put  it  in  front 
of  the  host  singing  "Peace  on  earth  and  good -will  to  men," 
made  a  contrast  to  his  first  vision  of  her  that  was  delightful  to 
Deronda's  eyes.  Mirah  herself  was  thinking  of  it,  and  imme- 
diately on  their  greeting  said, 

"  See  how  different  I  am  from  that  miserable  creature  by 
the  river !  All  because  you  found  me  and  brought  me  to  the 
very  best." 

"  It  was  my  good  chance  to  find  you,"  said  Deronda.  "  Any 
other  man  would  have  been  glad  to  do  what  I  did." 

"  That  is  not  the  right  way  of  thinking  about  it,"  said  Mi- 
rah, shaking  her  head  with  decisive  gravity.  "  I  think  of  what 
really  was.  It  was  you,  and  not  another,  who  found  me,  and 
were  good  to  me." 

"  I  agree  with  Mirah,"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick.  "  Saint  Anybody 
is  a  bad  saint  to  pray  to." 

"  Besides,  Anybody  could  not  have  brought  me  to  you,"  said 
Mirah,  smiling  at  Mrs.  Meyrick.  "And  I  would  rather  be  with 
you  than  with  any  one  else  in  the  world  except  my  mother.  1 
wonder  if  ever  a  poor  little  bird,  that  was  lost  and  could  not- 
fly,  was  taken  and  put  into  a  warm  nest  where  there  were  ft 
mother  and  sisters  who  took  to  it  so  that  every  thing  came 
naturally,  as  if  it  had  been  always  there.  I  hardly  thought  be- 
fore that  the  world  could  ever  be  as  happy  and  without  fear  ar- 
it  is  to  me  now."  She  looked  meditative  a  moment,  and  then 
baid,  "  Sometimes  I  am  a  little  afraid." 

"  What  is  it  you  are  afraid  of  ?"  said  Deronda,  with  anxiety. 

"  That  when  I  am  turning  at  the  corner  of  a  street  I  may 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  379 

meet  my  father.  It  seems  dreadful  that  I  should  be  afraid  of 
meeting  him.  That  is  my  only  sorrow,"  said  Mirah,  plaint- 
ively. 

"  It  is  surely  not  very  probable,"  said  Deronda,  wishing  that 
it  were  less  so;  then,  not  to  let  the  opportunity  escape  — 
"  Would  it  be  a  great  grief  to  you  now  if  you  were  never  to 
meet  your  mother  ?" 

She  did  not  answer  immediately,  but  meditated  again,  with 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  opposite  wall.  Then  she  turned  them  on 
Deronda  and  said,  firmly,  as  if  she  had  arrived  at  the  exact 
truth,  "  I  want  her  to  know  that  I  have  always  loved  her,  and 
if  she  is  alive  I  want  to  comfort  her.  She  may  be  dead.  If 
she  were,  I  should  long  to  know  where  she  was  buried ;  and  to 
know  whether  my  brother  lives  to  say  Kaddish  in  memory  of 
her.  But  I  will  try  not  to  grieve.  I  have  thought  much  for 
so  many  years  of  her  being  dead.  And  I  shall  have  her  with 
me  in  my  mind,  as  I  have  always  had.  We  can  never  be  real- 
ly parted.  I  think  I  have  never  sinned  against  her.  I  have 
always  tried  not  to  do  what  would  hurt  her.  Only  she  might 
be  sorry  that  I  was  not  a  good  Jewess." 

"  In  what  way  are  you  not  a  good  Jewess  ?"  said  -Deronda. 

"  I  am  ignorant,  and  we  never  observed  the  laws,  but  lived 
among  Christians  just  as  they  did.  But  I  have  heard  my  fa- 
ther laugh  at  the  strictness  of  the  Jews  about  their  food  and 
all  customs,  and  their  not  liking  Christians.  I  think  my  moth- 
er was  strict;  but  she  could  never  want  me  not  to  like  those 
who  are  better  to  me  than  any  of  my  own  people  I  have  ever 
known.  I  think  I  could  obey  in  other  things  that  she  wished, 
but  not  in  that.  It  is  so  much  easier  to  me  to  share  in  love 
than  in  hatred.  I  remember  a  play  I  read  in  German^ — since  I 
have  been  here,  it  has  come  into  my  mind — where  the  heroine 
says  something  like  that." 

"  'Antigone,'  "  said  Deronda. 

"  Ah,  you  know  it.  But  I  do  not  believe  that  my  mother 
would  wish  me  not  to  love  my  best  friends.  She  would  be 
grateful  to  them."  Here  Mirah  had  turned  to  Mrs.  Meyriek, 
and  with  a  sudden  lighting-up  of  her  whole  countenance  she 
said,  "  Oh,  if  we  ever  do  meet  and  know  each  other  as  we  are 
now,  so  that  I  could  tell  what  would  comfort  her,  I  should  be 


380  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

SO  full  of  blessedness,  my  soul  would  know  no  want  but  to  love 
lier!" 

"  God  bless  you,  child !"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick,  the  words  escap- 
ing involuntarily  from  her  motherly  heart.  But,  to  relieve  the 
strain  of  feeling,  she  looked  at  Deronda,  and  said,  "It  is  curi- 
ous that  Mirah,  who  remembers  her  mother  so  well  (it  is  as  if 
she  saw  her),  can  not  recall  her  brother  the  least  bit — except 
the  feeling  of  having  been  carried  by  him  when  she  was  tired, 
and  of  his  being  near  her  when  she  was  in  her  mother's  lap. 
It  must  be  that  he  was  rarely  at  home.  He  was  already  grown 
up.     It  is  a  pity  her  brother  should  be  quite  a  stranger  to  her." 

"  He  is  good ;  I  feel  sure  Ezra  is  good,"  said  Mirah,  eagerly. 
"  He  loved  my  mother — he  would  take  care  of  her.  I  remem- 
ber more  of  him  than  that.  I  remember  my  mother's  voice 
once  calling,  '  Ezra !'  and  then  his  answering  from  the  distance, 
'  Mother !'  " — Mirah  had  changed  her  voice  a  little  in  each  of 
these  words,  and  had  given  them  a  loving  intonation — "and 
then  he  came  close  to  us.  I  feel  sure  he  is  good.  I  have  al- 
ways taken  comfort  from  that." 

It  was  impossible  to  answer  this  either  with  agreement  or 
doubt.  Mk.  Meyrick  and  Deronda  exchanged  a  quick  glance. 
About  this  brother  she  felt  as  painfully  dubious  as  he  did. 
But  Mirah  went  on,  absorbed  in  her  memories : 

"  Is  it  not  wonderful  how  I  remember  the  voices  better  than 
any  thing  else  ?     I  think  they  must  go  deeper  into  us  than « 
other  things.     I  have  often  fancied  heaven  might  be  made  of 
voices." 

"  Like  your  singing — yes,"  said  Mab,  who  had  hitherto  kept 
a  modest  silence,  and  now  spoke  bashfully,  as  was  her  wont  in 
the  pres^ce  of  Prince  Camaralzaman.  "  Ma,  do  ask  Mirah  to 
sing.     Mr.  Deronda  has  not  heard  her." 

"  Would  it  be  disagreeable  to  you  to  sing  now  ?"  said  De- 
ronda, with  a  more  deferential  gentleness  than  he  had  ever 
been  conscious  of  before. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  like  it,"  said  Mirah.  "  My  voice  has  come  back 
a  little  with  rest." 

Perhaps  her  ease  of  manner  was  due  to  something  more  than 
the  simplicity  of  her  nature.  The  circumstances  of  her  life 
had  made  her  think  of  every  thing  she  did  as  work  demanded 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  381 

from  her,  in  which  affectation  had  nothing  to  do ;  and  she  had 
begun  her  work  before  self-consciousness  was  bom. 

She  immediately  rose  and  went  to  the  piano — a-  somewhat 
worn  instrument  that  seemed  to  get  the  better  of  its  infirmities 
under  the  firm  touch  of  her  small  fingers  as  she  preluded. 
Deronda  placed  himself  where  he  could  see  her  while  she  sung ; 
and  she  took  every  thing  as  quietly  as  if  she  had  been  a  child 
going  to  breakfast. 

Imagine  her — it  is  always  good  to  imagine  a  human  creature 
in  whom  bodily  loveliness  seems  as  properly  one  with  the  entire 
being  as  the  bodily  loveliness  of  those  wondrous  transparent 
orbs  of  life  that  we  find  in  the  sea — imagine  her  with  her  dark 
hair  brushed  from  her  temples,  but  yet  showing  certain  tiny 
rings  there  which  had  cunningly  found  their  own  way  back, 
the  mass  of  it  hanging  behind  just  to  the  nape  of  the  little 
neck  in  curly  fibres,  such  as  renew  themselves  at  their  own  will 
after  being  bathed  into  straightness  like  that  of  water -grass- 
es. Then  see  the  perfect  cameo  her  profile  makes,  cut  in 
a  duskish  shell  where  by  some  happy  fortune  there  pierced  a 
gem-like  darkness  for  the  eye  and  eyebrow;  the  delicate  nos- 
trils defined  enough  to  be  ready  for  sensitive  movements,  the 
finished  ear,  the  firm  curves  of  the  chin  and  neck  entering  into 
the  expression  of  a  refinement  which  was  not  feebleness. 

She  sung  Beethoven's  "  Per  pieta,  non  dirmi  addio,"  with  a 
subdued  but  searching  pathos,  which  had  that  essential  of  per- 
fect singing,  the  making  one  oblivious  of  aft  or  manner,  and 
only  possessing  one  with  the  song.  It  was  the  sort  of  voice 
that  gives  the  impression  of  being  meant,  like  a  bird's  wooing, 
for  an  audience  near  and  beloved.  Deronda  began  by  look- 
ing at  her,  but  felt  himself  presently  covering  his  eyes  with  his 
hand,  wanting  to  seclude  the  melody  in  darkness ;  then  he  re- 
frained from  what  might  seem  oddity,  and  was  ready  to  meet 
the  look  of  mute  appeal  which  she  turned  toward  him  at  the 
end. 

"  I  think  I  never  enjoyed  a  song  more  than  that,"  he  said, 
gratefully. 

"  You  like  my  singing  ?  I  am  so  glad,"  she  said,  with  a 
smile  of  delight.  "  It  has  been  a  great  pain  to  me,  because  it 
failed  in  what  it  was  wanted  for.     But  now  we  think  I  can 


382  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

use  it  to.  get  my  bread.  I  have  really  been  taught  well.  And 
now  I  have  two  pupils^  that  Miss  Meyrick  found  for  me.  They 
pay  me  nearly  two  crowns  for  their  two  lessons." 

"  I  think  I  know  some  ladies  who  would  find  you  many  pu- 
pils after  Christmas,"  said  Deronda.  "  You  would  not  mind 
singing  before  any  one  who  wished  to  hear  you  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  I  want  to  do  something  to  get  money.  I  could 
teach  reading  and  speaking,  Mrs.  Meyrick  thinks.  But  if  no 
one  would  learn  of  me,  that  is  difficult."  Mirah  smiled  with  a 
touch  of  merriment  he  had  not  seen  in  her  before.  "  I  dare 
say  I  should  find  her  poor  —  I  mean  my  mother.  I  should 
want  to  get  money  for  her.  And  I  can  not  always  live  on 
charity;  though" — here  she  turned  so  as  to  take  all  three  of 
her  companions  in  one  glance — "  it  is  the  sweetest  charity  in 
all  the  world." 

"I  should  think  you  can  get  rich,"  said  Deronda,  smiling. 
"  Great  ladies  will  perhaps  like  you  to  teach  their  daughters. 
We  shall  see.     But  now,  do  sing  again  to  us." 

She  went  on  willingly,  singing  with  ready  memory  various 
things  by  Gordigiani  and  Schubert ;  then,  when  she  had  left 
the  piano,  Mab  said,  entreatingly,  "Oh,  Mirah,  if  you  would  not 
mind  singing  the  little  hymn." 

"  It  is  too  childish,"  said  Mirah.     "  It  is  like  lisping." 

"  What  is  the  hymn  ?"  said  Deronda. 

"  It  is  the  Hebrew  hymn  she  remembers  her  mother  singing 
over  her  when  she  lay  in  her  cot,"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick. 

"  I  should  like  very  much  to  hear  it,"  said  Deronda,  "  if  you 
think  I  am  worthy  to  hear  what  is  so  sacred." 

"I  will  sing  it  if  you  like,"  said  Mirah,  "but  I  don't  sing 
real  words — only  here  and  there  a  syllable  like  hers — the  rest 
is  lisping.  Do  you  know  Hebrew  ?  Because  if  you  do,  my  sing- 
ing will  seem  childish  nonsense." 

Deronda  shook  his  head.  "  It  will  be  quite  good  Hebrew 
to  me." 

Mirah  crossed  her  little  feet  and  hands  in  her  easiest  attitude, 
and  then  lifted  up  her  head  at  an  angle  which  seemed  to  be  di- 
rected to  some  invisible  face  bent  over  her,  while  she  sung  a 
little  hymn  of  quaint  melancholy  intervals,  with  syllables  that 
really  seemed  childish  lisping  to  her  audience  ;  but  the  voice  in 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  383 

whicli  she  gave  it  fortli  had  gathered  even  a  sweeter,  more  coo- 
ing t-enderness  than  was  heard  in  her  other  songs.^ 

"  If  I  were  ever  to  know  the  real  words,  I  should  still  go  on 
in  my  old  way  with  them,"  said  Mirah,  when  she  had  repeated 
the  hymn  several  times. 

"  Why  not  ?"  said  Deronda.  "  The  lisped  syllables  are  very 
full  of  meaning." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick.  "  A  mother  hears  some- 
thing like  a  lisp  in  her  children's  talk  to  the  very  last.  Their 
words  are  not  just  what  every  body  else  says,  though  they  may 
be  spelled  the  same.  If  I  were  to  live  till  my  Hans  got  old,  I 
should  still  see  the  boy  in  him.  A  mother's  love,  I  often  say, 
is  like  a  tree  that  has  got  all  the  wood  in  it,  from  the  very  first 
it  made." 

"  Is  not  that  the  way  with  friendship,  too  ?"  said  Deronda, 
smilino;.     "  We  must  not  let  mothers  be  too  arroo-ant." 

The  bright  little  woman  shook  her  head  over  her  darning. 

"It  is  easier  to  find  an  old  mother  than  an  old  friend. 
Friendships  begin  with  liking  or  gratitude — roots  that  can  be 
pulled  up.     Mother's  love  begins  deeper  down." 

"  Like  what  you  were  saying  about  the  influence  of  voices," 
said  Deronda,  looking  at  Mirah.  "  I  don't  think  your  hymn 
would  have  had  more  expression  for  me  if  I  had  known  the 
words.  I  went  to  the  synagogue  at  Frankfort  before  I  came 
home,  and  the  service  impressed  me  just  as  much  as  if  I  had 
followed  the  words — perhaps  more." 

"Oh,  was  it  great  to  you?  Did  it  go  to  your  heart?"  said 
Mirah,  eagerly.  "  I  thought  none  but  our  people  would  feel 
that.  I  thought  it  was  all  shut  away  like  a  river  in  a  deep  val- 
ley, where  only  Heaven  saw — I  mean — "  She  hesitated,  feeling 
that  she  could  not  disentangle  her  thought  from  its  imagery. 

"  I  understand,"  said  Deronda.  "  But  there  is  not  really 
such  a  separation — deeper  down,  as  Mrs.  Meyrick  says.  Our 
religion  is  chiefly  a  Hebrew  religion;  and  since  Jews  are  men, 
their  religious  feelings  must  have  much  in  common  with  those 
of  other  men — just  as  their  poetry,  though  in  one  sense  pecul- 
iar, has  a  great  deal  in  common  with  the  poetry  of  other  na- 
tions. Still  it  is  to  be  expected  that  a  Jew  would  feel  the 
forms  of  his  people's  religion  more  than  one  of  another  race ; 


384  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

and  yet" — here  Deronda  hesitated  in  his  turn — "that  is  per- 
haps not  always  so." 

"Ah  no,"  said  Mirah,  sadly.  "I  have  seen  that.  I  have 
seen  them  mock.  Is  it  not  like  mocking  your  parents  ? — like 
rejoicing  in  your  parents'  shame  ?" 

"Some  minds  naturally  rebel  against  whatever  they  were 
brought  up  in,  and  like  the  opposite.  They  see  the  faults  in 
what  is  nearest  to  them,"  said  Deronda,  apologetically. 

"  But  you  are  not  like  that,"  said  Mirah,  looking  at  him  with 
unconscious  fixedness. 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  said  Deronda ;  "  but  you  know  I  was  not 
brought  up  as  a  Jew." 

"  Ah,  I  am  always  forgetting,"  said  Mirah,  with  a  look  of 
disappointed  recollection,  and  slightly  blushing. 

Deronda  also  felt  rather  embarrassed,  and  there  was  an  awk- 
ward pause,  which  he  put  an  end  to  by  saying,  playfully, 

"  Whichever  way  we  take  it,  we  have  to  tolerate  each  other ; 
for  if  we  all  went  in  opposition  to  our  teaching,  we  must  end 
in  difference,  just  the  same." 

"  To  be  sure.  We  should  go  on  forever  in  zigzags,"  said 
Mrs.  Meyrick.  "  I  think  it  is  very  weak-minded  to  make  your 
creed  up  by  the  rule  of  contrary.  Still,  one  may  honor  one's 
parents  without  following  their  notions  exactly,  any  more  than 
the  exact  cut  of  their  clothing.  My  father  was  a  Scotch  Cal- 
vinist,  and  my  mother  was  a  French  Calvinist.  I  am  neither 
quite  Scotch  nor  quite  French,  nor  two  Calvinists  rolled  into 
one,  yet  I  honor  my  parents'  memory." 

"  But  I  could  not  make  myself  not  a  Jewess,"  said  Mirah, 
insistently,  "  even  if  I  changed  my  belief." 

"  No,  my  dear.  But  if  Jews  and  Jewesses  went  on  chang- 
ing their  religion,  and  making  no  difference  between  themselves 
and  Christians,  there  would  come  a  time  when  there  would  be 
no  Jews  to  be  seen,"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick,  taking  that  consumma- 
tion very  cheerfully. 

"  Oh,  please  not  to  say  that,"  said  Mirah,  the  tears  gathering. 
"  It  is  the  first  unkind  thing  you  ever  said.  I  will  not  begin 
that.  I  will  never  separate  myself  from  my  mother's  people. 
I  was  forced  to  fly  from  my  father;  but  if  he  came  back  in 
age  and   weakness  and  want,  and  needed  me,  should  I  say, 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  385 

'  This  is  not  my  father  V  If  lie  had  shame,  I  must  share  it.  It 
was  he  who  was  given  to  me  for  my  father,  and  not  another. 
And  so  it  is  with  my  people.  I  will  always  be  a  Jewess. 
I  will  love  Christians  when  they  are  good,  like  you.  But  I 
will  always  cling  to  my  people.  '  I  will  always  worship  with 
them." 

As  Mirah  had  gone  on  speaking  she  had  become  possessed 
with  a  sorrowful  passion — fervent,  not  violent.  Holding  her 
little  hands  tightly  clasped,  and  looking  at  Mrs.  Meyrick  with 
beseeching,  she  seemed  to  Deronda  a  personification  of  that 
spirit  which  impelled  men,  after  a  long  inheritance  of  professed 
Catholicism,  to  leave  wealth  and  high  place,  and  risk  their  lives 
in  flight,  that  they  might  join  their  own  people  and  say,  "  I  am 
a  Jew." 

"  Mirah,  Mirah,  my  dear  child,  you  mistake  me !"  said  Mrs. 
Meyrick,  alarmed.  "  God  forbid  I  should  want  you  to  do  any 
thing  against  your  conscience.  I  was  only  saying  what  might 
be  if  the  world  went  on.  But  I  had  better  have  left  the  world 
alone,  and  not  wanted  to  be  overwise.  Forgive  me,  come !  We 
will  not  try  to  take  you  from  any  body  you  feel  has  more  right 
to  you." 

"  I  would  do  any  thing  else  for  you.  I  owe  you  my  life," 
said  Mirah,  not  yet  quite  calm. 

"  Hush,  hush,  now,"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick.  "  I  have  been  pun- 
ished enough  for  wagging  my  tongue  foolishly — making  an  al- 
manac for  the  Millennium,  as.  my  husband  used  to  say." 

"  But  every  thing  in  the  world  must  come  to  an  end  some 
time.  We  must  bear  to  think  of  that,"  said  Mab,  unable  to 
hold  her  peace  on  this  point.  She  had  already  suffered  from  a 
bondage  of  tongue  which  threatened  to  become  severe  if  Mirah 
were  to  be  too  much  indulged  in  this  inconvenient  susceptibil- 
ity to  innocent  remarks. 

Deronda  smiled  at  the  irregular,  blonde  face,  brought  into 
strange  contrast  by  the  side  of  Mirah' s — smiled,  Mab  thought, 
rather  sarcastically  as  he  said, "'  That  prospect  of  every  thing 
coming  to  an  end  will  not  guide  us  far  in  practice.  Mirah's 
feelings,  she  tells  us,  are  concerned  with  what  is." 

Mab  was  confused,  and  wished  she  had  not  spoken,  since  Mr. 
Deronda  seemed  to  think  that  she  had  found  fault  with  Mirah ; 

Vol.  L— 17 


386  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

but  to  have  spoken  once  is  a  tyrannous  reason  for  speaking 
again,  and  she  said, 

"  I  only  meant  that  we  must  have  courage  to  hear  things, 
else  there  is  hardly  any  thing  we  can  talk  about."  Mab  felt 
herself  unanswerable  here,  inclining  to  the  opinion  of  Socrates : 
"  "What  motive  has  a  man  to  live,  if  not  for  the  pleasures  of 
discourse  r 

Deronda  took  his  leave  soon  after,  and  when  Mrs.  Meyrick 
went  outside  with  him  to  exchange  a  few  words  about  Mirah, 
he  said,  "  Hans  is  to  share  my  chambers  when  he  conies  at 
Christmas." 

"  You  have  written  to  Rome  about  that  ?"  said  Mrs.  Meyrick, 
her  face  lighting  up.  "  How  very  good  and  thoughtful  of  you ! 
You  mentioned  Mirah,  then  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  referred  to  her.  I  concluded  he  knew  every  thing 
from  you." 

''  I  must  confess  my  folly.  I  have  not  yet  written  a  word 
about  her.  I  have  always  been  meaning  to  do  it,  and  yet  have 
ended  my  letter  without  saying  a  word.  And  I  told  the  girls 
to  leave  it  to  me.     However,  thank  you  a  thousand  times." 

Deronda  divined  something  of  what  was  in  the  mother's 
mind,  and  his  divination  re-enforced  a  certain  anxiety  already 
present  in  him.  His  inward  colloquy  was  not  soothing.  He 
said  to  himself  that  no  man  could  see  this  exquisite  creature 
without  feeling  it  possible  to  fall  in  love  with  her ;  but  all  the 
fervor  of  his  nature  was  engaged  on  the  side  of  precaution. 
There  are  personages  who  feel  themselves  tragic  because  they 
march  into  a  palpable  morass,  dragging  another  with  them,  and 
then  cry  out  against  all  the  gods.  '  Deronda's  mind  was  strong- 
Iv  set  against  imitatinor  them. 

"  I  have  my  hands  on  the  reins  now,"  he  thought,  "  and  I 
will  not  drop  them.     I  shall  go  there  as  little  as  possible." 

He  saw  the  reasons  acting  themselves  out  before  him.  How 
could  he  be  Mirah's  guardian  and  claim  to  unite  with  Mrs. 
Meyrick,  to  whose  charge  he  had  committed  her,  if  he  showed 
himself  as  a  lover — whom  she  did  not  love — whom  she  would 
not  marry  ?  And  if  he  encouraged  any  germ  of  lover's  feeling 
in  himself,  it  would  lead  up  to  that  issue.  Mirah's  was  not  a 
nature  that  would  bear  dividing  against  itself ;  and  even  if  love 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  387 

won  her  consent  to  many  a  man  who  was  not  of  her  race 
and  religion,  she  would  never  be  happy  in  acting  against  that 
stroncr  native  bias  which  would  still  reisni  in  her  conscience  as 
remorse. 

Deronda  saw  these  consequences  as  we  see  any  danger  of 
marring  our  own  work  well  begun.  It  was  a  delight  to  have 
rescued  this  child  acquainted  with  sorrow,  and  to  think  of  hav- 
ing placed  her  little  feet  in  protected  paths.  The  creature  we 
help  to  save,  though  only  a  half -reared  linnet,  bruised  and  lost 
by  the  wayside — how  we  watch  and  fence  it,  and  dote  on  its 
signs  of  recovery  !  Our  pride  becomes  loving,  our  self  is  a  not- 
self  for  whose  sake  we  become  virtuous,  when  we  set  to  some 
hidden  work  of  reclaiming  a  life  from  misery  and  look  out  for 
our  triumph  in  the  secret  joy — "  This  one  is  the  better  for 
me." 

"  I  would  as  soon  hold  out  my  finger  to  be  bitten  off  as  set 
about  spoiling  her  peace,"  said  Deronda.  '*  It  was  one  of  the 
rarest  bits  of  fortune  that  I  should  have  had  friends  like  the 
Meyricks  to  place  her  with — generous,  delicate  friends,  without 
any  loftiness  in  their  ways,  so  that  her  dependence  on  them  is 
not  only  safety,  but  happiness.  There  could  be  no  refuge  to 
replace  that,  if  it  were  broken  up.  But  what  is  the  use  of  my 
taking  the  vows  and  settling  every  thing  as  it  should  be,  if  that 
marplot  Hans  comes  and  upsets  it  all  r 

Few  things  were  more  likely.  Hans  was  made  for  mishaps : 
his  very  limbs  seemed  more  breakable  than  other  people's — his 
eyes  more  of  a  resort  for  uninvited  flies  and  other  irritating 
guests.  But  it  was  impossible  to  forbid  Hans's  coming  to 
London.  He  was  intending  to  get  a  studio  there  and  make  it 
his  chiei  home ;  and  to  propose  that  he  should  defer  cominsr 
on  some  ostensible  ground,  concealing  the  real  motive  of  win- 
ning time  for  Mirah's  position  to  become  more  confirmed  and 
independent,  was  impracticable.  Having  no  other  resource,  De- 
ronda tried  to  believe  that  both  he  and  Mrs.  Meyrick  were  fool- 
ishly troubling  themselves  about  one  of  those  endless  things 
called  probabilities  which  never  occur:  but  he  did  not  quite 
succeed  in  his  trvinaj :  on  the  contrary,  he  found  himself  croinv-T 
inwardly  thi-ough  a  scene  where,  on  the  first  discovery  of  Hans's 
inclination,  he  gave  him  a  very  energetic  warning — suddenly 


888  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

cliecked,  however,  by  the  suspicion  of  personal  feeling  that  his 
warmth  might  be  creating  in  Hans.  He  could  come  to  no  re- 
sult but  that  the  position  was  peculiar,  and  that  he  could  make 
no  further  provision  against  dangers  until  they  came  nearer. 
To  save  an  unhappy  Jewess  from  drowning  herself  would  not 
have  seemed  a  startling  variation  among  police  reports ;  but  to 
discover  in  her  so  rare  a  creature  as  Mirah  was  an  exceptional 
event  which  might  well  bring  exceptional  consequences.  De- 
ronda  would  not  let  himself  for  a  moment  dwell  on  any  sup- 
position that  the  consequences  might  enter  deeply  into  his  own 
life.  The  image  of  Mirah  had  never  yet  had  that  penetrating 
radiation  which  would  have  been  given  to  it  by  the  idea  of  her 
loving  him.  When  this  sort  of  effluence  is  absent  from  the 
fancy  (whether  from  the  fact  or  not),  a  man  may  go  far  in  de- 
votedness  without  perturbation. 

As  to  the  search  for  Mirah's  mother  and  brother,  Deronda 
took  what  she  had  said  to-day  as  a  warrant  for  deferring  any 
immediate  measures.  His  conscience  was  not  quite  easy  in 
this  desire  for  delay,  any  more  than  it  was  quite  easy  in  his 
not  attempting  to  learn  the  truth  about  his  own  mother.  In 
both  cases  he  felt  that  there  might  be  an  unfulfilled  duty  to  a 
parent;  but  in  both  cases  there  was  an  overpowering  repug- 
nance to  the  possible  truth,  which  threw  a  turning  weight  into 
the  scale  of  argument. 

"At  least,  I  will  look  about,"  was  his  final  determination. 
"  I  may  find  some  special  Jewish  machinery.  I  will  wait  till 
after  Christmas." 

What  should  we  all  do  without  the  calendar  when  we  want 
to  put  off  a  disagreeable  duty?  The  admirable  arrangements 
of  the  solar  system,  by  which  our  time  is  measured,  always  sup- 
ply us  with  a  term  before  which  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  set 
about  any  thing  we  are  disinclined  to. 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  389 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

" '  No  man,'  says  a  rabbi,  by  way  of  indisputable  instance,  *  may  turn 
the  bones  of  his  father  and  mother  into  spoons  ' — sure  that  his  hearers 
felt  the  checks  against  that  form  of  economy.  The  market  for  spoons 
has  never  expanded  enough  for  any  one  to  say, '  Why  not  V  and  to  argue 
that  human  progress  lies  in  such  an  application  of  material.  The  only 
check  to  be  alleged  is  a  sentiment,  which  will  coerce  none  who  do  not  hold 
that  sentiments  are  the  better  part  of  the  world's  wealth." 

Deronda  meanwhile  took  to  a  less  fashionable  form  of  ex- 
ercise  than  riding  in  Rotten  Row.  He  went  often  rambling  in 
those  parts  of  London  which  are  most  inhabited  by  common 
Jews ;  he  walked  to  the  synagogues  at  times  of  service,  he  look- 
ed into  shops,  he  observed  faces — a  process  not  very  promising 
of  particular  discovery.  Why  did  he  not  address  himself  to 
an  influential  rabbi,  or  other  member  of  a  Jewish  community, 
to  consult  on  the  chances  of  finding  a  mother  named  Cohen, 
with  a  son  named  Ezra  and  a  lost  daughter  named  Mirah? 
C-  He  thought  of  doing  so — after  Christmas.  The  fact  was,  not- 
withstanding all  his  sense  of  poetry  in  common  things,  Derontia, 
where  a  keen  personal  interest  was  aroused,  could  not,  more 
than  the  rest  of  us,  continually  escape  suffering  from  the  press- 
ure of  that  hard,  unaccommodating  Actual,  which  has  never 
consulted  our  taste  and  is  entirely  unselect.  Enthusiasm,  we 
know,  dwells  at  ease  among  ideas,  tolerates  garlic  breathed  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  and  sees  no  shabbiness  in  the  official  trap- 
pings of  classic  processions :  it  gets  squeamish  when  ideals 
press  upon  it  as  something  warmly  incarnate,  and  can  hardly 
face  them  without  fainting.  Lying  dreamily  in  a  boat,  imag- 
ining one's  self  in  'quest  of  a  beautiful  maiden's  relatives  in 
Cordova  elbowed  by  Jews  in  the  time  of  Ibn-Gebirol,  all  the 
physical  incidents  can  be  borne  without  shock.  Or  if  the 
scenery  of  St.  Mary  Axe  and  Whitechapel  were  imaginatively 
transported  to  the  borders  of  the  Rhine  at  the  end  of  the  elev- 
enth century,  when  in  the  ears  listening  for  the  signals  of  the 


890  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Messiah,  the  Hep !  hep !  hep !  of  the  Crusaders  came  like  the 
bay  of  blood -hounds;  and,  in  the  presence  of  those  devilish 
missionaries  with  sword  and  fire-brand,  the  crouchinor  fiorure  of 
the  reviled  Jew  turned  round,  erect,  heroic,  flashing  with  sub- 
lime constancy  in  the  face  of  torture  and  death — what  would 
the  dingy  shops  and  unbeautiful  faces  signify  to  the  thrill  of 
contemplative  emotion?  But  the  fervor  of  sympathy  with 
which  we  contemplate  a  grandiose  martyrdom  is  feeble  com- 
pared with  the  enthusiasm  that  keeps  unslacked  where  there  is 
no  danger,  no  challenge — nothing  but  impartial  midday  falling 
on  commonplace,  perhaps  half-repulsive,  objects  which  are  real- 
ly the  beloved  ideas  made  flesh.  Here  undoubtedly  lies  the 
chief  poetic  energy — in  the  force  of  imagination  that  pierces 
or  exalts  the  solid  fact,  instead  of  floating  among  cloud-pict- 
ures. To  glory  in  a  prophetic  vision  of  knowledge  covering 
the  earth  is  an  easier  exercise  of  believing  imagination  than  to 
see  its  beginning  in  newspaper  placards,  staring  at  you  from  a 
bridge  beyond  the  corn-fields;  and  it  might  well  happen  to 
most  of  us  dainty  people  that  we  were  in  the  thick  of  the  bat- 
tle of  Armageddon  without  being  aware  of  any  thing  more 
than  the  annoyance  of  a  little  explosive  smoke  and  struggling 
on  the  ground  immediately  about  us. 

It  lay  in  Deronda's  nature  usually  to  contemn  the  feeble, 
fastidious  sympathy  which  shrinks  from  the  broad  life  of  man- 
kind ;  but  now,  with  Mirah  before  him  as  a  living  reality  whose 
experience  he  had  to  care  for,  he  saw  every  common  Jew  and 
Jewess  in  the  light  of  comparison  with  her,  and  had  a  presenti- 
ment of  the  collision  between  her  idea  of  the  unknown  mother 
and  brother  and  the  discovered  fact  —  a  presentiment  all  the 
keener  in  him  because  of  a  suppressed  consciousness  that  a 
not  unlike  possibility  of  collision  might  lie  hidden  in  his  own 
lot.  Not  that  he  would  have  looked  with  more  complacency 
of  expectation  at  wealthy  Jews,  outdoing  the  lords  of  the  Phil- 
istines in  their  sports;  but  since  there  was  no  likelihood  of 
Mirah's  friends  being  found  among  that  class,  their  habits  did 
not  immediately  affect  him.  In  this  mood  he  rambled,  without 
expectation  of  a  more  pregnant  result  than  a  little  preparation 
of  his  own  mind,  perhaps  for  future  theorizing  as  well  as  prac- 
tice— very  much  as  if,  Mirah  being  related  to  Welsh  miners,  he 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  391 

had  gone  to  look  more  closely  at  tlie  ways  of  those  people,  not 
without  wishing  at  the  same  time  to  get  a  little  light  of  detail 
on  the  history  of  Strikes. 

He  really  did  not  long  to  find  any  body  in  particular ;  and 
when,  as  his  habit  was,  he  looked  at  the  name  over  a  shop-door, 
he  was  well  content  that  it  was  not  Ezra  Cohen.  I  confess,  he 
particularly  desired  that  Ezra  Cohen  should  not  keep  a  shop. 
Wishes  are  held  to  be  ominous ;  according  to  which  belief  the 
order  of  the  world  is  so  arranged  that  if  you  have  an  impious 
objection  to  a  squint,  your  offspring  is  the  more  likely  to  be 
bom  with  one ;  also,  that  if  you  happened  to  desire  a  squint, 
you  would  not  get  it.  This  desponding  view  of  probability 
the  hopeful  entirely  reject,  taking  their  wishes  as  good  and  suf- 
ficient security  for  all  kinds  of  fulfillment.  "Who  is  absolutely 
neutral  ?  Deronda,  happening  one  morning  to  turn  into  a  little 
side  street  out  of  the  noise  and  obstructions  of  Holborn,  felt 
the  scale  dip  on  the  desponding  side. 

He  was  rather  tired  of  the  streets,  and  had  paused  to  hail 
a  hansom  cab  which  he  saw  coming,  when  his  attention  was 
caught  by  some  fine  old  clasps  in  chased  silver  displayed  in  the 
window  at  his  right  hand.  His  first  thought  was  that  Lady 
Mallinger,  who  had  a  strictly  Protestant  taste  for  such  Catho- 
lic spoils,  might  like  to  have  these  missal-clasps  turned  into  a 
bracelet ;  then  his  eyes  traveled  over  the  other  contents  of  the 
window,  and  he  saw  that  the  shop  was  that  kind  of  pawn- 
broker's where  the  lead  is  given  to  jewelry,  lace,  and  all  equiv- 
ocal objects  introduced  as  bric-a-brac.  A  placard  in  one  corner 
announced,  "Watches  and  Jewelry  exchanged  and  repaired." 
But  his  survey  had  been  noticed  from  within,  and  a  figure  ap- 
peared at  the  door,  looking  round  at  him  and  saying,  in  a  tone 
of  cordial  encouragement,  "  Good-day,  sir."  The  instant  was 
enough  for  Deronda  to  see  that  the  face,  unmistakably  Jewish, 
belonged  to  a  young  man  about  thirty  ;.  and,  wincing  from  the 
shop-keeper's  persuasiveness  that  would  probably  follow,  he  had 
no  sooner  returned  the  "  good-day  "  than  he  passed  to  the  oth- 
er side  of  the  street  and  beckoned  to  the  cabman  to  draw  up 
there.  From  that  station  he  saw  the  name  over  the  shop-win- 
dow— Ezra  Cohen. 

There  might  be  a  hnndrod  Ezra  Cohens  lettered  above  shop- 


392  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

windows,  but  Deronda  had  not  seen  them.  Probably  the  young 
man  interested  in  a  possible  customer  was  Ezra  himself ;  and 
he  was  about  the  age  to  be  expected  in  Mirah's  brother,  who 
was  grown  up  while  she  was  still  a  little  child.  But  Deronda's 
first  endeavor,  as  he  drove  homeward,  was  to  convince  himself 
that  there  was  not  the  slightest  warrantable  presumption  of 
this  Ezra  being  Mirah's  brother ;  and  next,  that  even  if,  in  spite 
of  good  reasoning,  he  turned  out  to  be  that  brother,  while  on 
inquiry  the  mother  was  found  to  be  dead,  it  was  not  his — De- 
ronda's— duty  to  make  known  the  discovery  to  Mirah.  In  in- 
convenient disturbance  of  this  conclusion  there  came  his  lately 
acquired  knowledge  that  Mirah  would  have  a  religious  desire 
to  know  of  her  mother's  death,  and  also  to  learn  whether  her 
brother  were  living.  How  far  was  he  justified  in  determining 
another  life  by  his  own  notions  ?  Was  it  not  his  secret  com- 
plaint against  the  way  in  which  others  had  ordered  his  own 
life  that  he  had  not  open  daylight  on  all  its  relations,  so  that 
he  had  not,  like  other  men,  the  full  guidance  of  primary  du- 
ties? 

The  immediate  relief  from  this  inward  debate  was  the  re- 
flection that  he  had  not  yet  made  any  real  discovery,  and  that 
by  looking  into  the  facts  more  closely  he  should  be  cei*tified 
that  there  was  no  demand  on  him  for  any  decision  whatever. 
He  intended  to  return  to  that  shop  as  soon  as  he  could  conven- 
iently, and  buy  the  clasps  for  Lady  Mallinger.  But  he  was 
hindered  for  several  days  by  Sir  Hugo,  who,  about  to  make  an 
after-dinner  speech  on  a  burning  topic,  wanted  Deronda  to  for- 
age for  him  on  the  legal  part  of  the  question,  besides  wasting 
time  every  day  on  argument  which  always  ended  in  a  drawn 
battle.  As  on  many  other  questions,  they  held  different  sides ; 
but  Sir  Hugo  did  not  mind  this,  and  when  Deronda  put  his 
point,  well  said,  with  a  mixture  of  satisfaction  and  regret : 

"  Confound  it,  Dan !  why  don't  you  make  an  opportunity  of 
saying  these  things  in  public  ?  You're  wrong,  you  know.  You 
won't  succeed.  You've  got  the  massive  sentiment — the  heavy 
artillery  of  the  country  against  you.  But  it's  all  the  better 
ground  for  a  young  man  to  display  himself  on.  When  I  was 
your  age,  I  should  have  taken  it.  And  it  would  be  quite  as 
well  for  you  to  be  in  opposition  to  me  here  and  there.     It 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  393 

would  throw  you  more  and  more  into  relief.  If  you  would 
seize  an  occasion  of  this  sort  to  make  an  impression,  you  might 
be  in  Parliament  in  no  time.  And  you  know  that  would  grat- 
ify me." 

"  I  am  sorry  not  to  do  what  would  gratify  you,  sir,"  said 
Deronda ;  "  but  I  can  not  persuade  -myself  to  look  at  politics 
as  a  profession." 

"  Why  not  ?  If  a  man  is  not  born  into  public  life  by  his 
position  in  the  country,  there's  no  way  for  him  but  to  embrace 
it  by  his  own  efforts.  The  business  of  the  country  must  be 
doHe — her  Majesty's  Government  carried  on,  as  the  old  duke 
said.  And  it  never  could  be,  my  boy,  if  every  body  looked  at 
politics  as  if  they  were  prophecy,  and  demanded  an  inspired 
vocation.  If  you  are  to  get  into  Parliament,  it  won't  do  to  sit 
still  and  wait  for  a  call  either  from  heaven  or  constituents." 

"  I  don't  want  to  make  a  living  out  of  opinions,"  said  De- 
ronda; "especially  out  of  borrowed  opinions.  Not  that  I 
mean  to  blame  other  men.  I  dare  say  many  better  fellows 
than  I  don't  mind  getting  on  to  a  platform  to  praise  themselves, 
and  giving  their  word  of  honor  for  a  party." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  I3an,"  said  Sir  Hugo,  "  a  man  who  sets 
his  face  against  every  sort  of  humbug  is  simply  a  three-corner- 
ed, impracticable  fellow.  There's  a  bad  style  of  humbug,  but 
there  is  also  a  good  style — one  that  oils  the  wheels  and  makes 
progress  possible.  If  you  are  to  rule  men,  you  must  rule  them 
through  their  own  ideas ;  and  I  agree  with  the  Archbishop  at 
Naples,  who  had  a  St.  Januarius  procession  against  the  plague. 
It's  no  use  having  an  Order  in  Council  against  popular  shal- 
lowness.    There  is  no  action  possible  without  a  little  acting." 

"  One  may  be  obliged  to  give  way  to  an  occasional  neces- 
sity," said  Deronda.  "  But  it  is  one  thing  to  say, '  In  this  par- 
ticular case  I  am  forced  to  put  on  this  fool's  cap  and  grin,'  and 
another  to  buy  a  pocket  fool's  cap  and  practice  myself  in  grin- 
ning. I  can't  see  any  real  public  expediency  that  does  not 
keep  an  ideal  before  it  which  makes  a  limit  of  deviation  from 
the  direct  path.  But  if  I  were  to  set  up  for  a  public  man,  I 
might  mistake  my  own  success  for  public  expediency." 

It  was  after  this  dialogue,  which  was  rather  jarring  to  him, 
that  Deronda  set  out  oh  his  meditated  second  visit  to  Ezra 

17* 


394  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

Cohen's.  He  entered  the  street  at  the  end  opposite  to  the 
Holborn  entrance,  and  an  inward  reluctance  slackened  his  pace, 
while  his  thoughts  were  transferring  what  he  had  just  been 
saying  about  public  expediency  to  the  entirely  private  difficulty 
which  brought  him  back  again  into  this  unattractive  thorough- 
fare. It  might  soon  become  an  immediate  practical  question 
with  him  how  far  he  could  call  it  a  wise  expediency  to  conceal 
the  fact  of  close  kindred.  Such  questions  turning  up  constant- 
ly in  life  are  often  decided  in  a  rough-and-ready  way;  and 
to  many  it  will  appear  an  over-refinement  in  Deronda  that  he 
should  make  any  great  point  of  a  matter  confined  to  his  own 
knowledge.  But  we  have  seen  the  reasons  why  he  had  come 
to  regard  concealment  as  a  bane  of  life,  and  the  necessity  of 
concealment  as  a  mark  by  which  lines  of  action  were  to  be 
avoided.  The  prospect  of  being  urged  against  the  confirmed 
habit  of  his  mind  was  naturally  grating.  He  even  paused  here 
and  there  before  the  most  plausible  shop-windows  for  a  gentle- 
man to  look  into,  half  inclined  to  decide  that  he  would  not  in- 
crease his  knowledge  about  that  modern  Ezra,  who  was  certain- 
ly not  a  leader  among  his  people — a  hesitation  which  proved 
how,  in  a  man  much  given  to  reasoning,  a  bare  possibility  may 
weigh  more  than  the  best-clad  likelihood;  for  Deronda's  rea- 
soning had  decided  that  all  likelihood  was  against  this  man's 
being  Mirah's  brother. 

One  of  the  shop-windows  he  paused  before  was  that  of  a  sec- 
ond-hand book-shop,  where,  on  a  narrow  table  outside,  the  lit- 
erature of  the  ages  was  represented  in  judicious  mixture,  from 
the  immortal  verse  of  Homer  to  the  mortal  prose  of  the  rail- 
way novel.  That  the  mixture  was  judicious  was  apparent  from 
Deronda's  finding  in  it  something  that  he  wanted — namely, 
that  wonderful  bit  of  autobiography,  the  life  of  the  Polish  Jew, 
Salomon  Maimon ;  which  as  he  could  easily  slip  it  into  his 
pocket,  he  took  from  its  place,  and  entered  the  shop  to  pay 
for,  expecting  to  see  behind  the  counter  a  grimy  personage 
showing  that  nonchalance  about  sales  which  seems  to  belong 
universally  to  the  second-hand  book-business.  In  most  other 
trades  you  find  generous  men  who  are  anxious  to  sell  you  their 
wares  for  your  own  welfare;  but  even  a  Jew  will  not  urge 
Simson's  "  Euclid  "  on  you  with  an  affectionate  assurance  that 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  395 

you  will  have  pleasure  in  reading  it,  and  that  he  wishes  he  had 
twenty  more  of  the  article,  so  much  is  it  in  request.  One  is 
led  to  fear  that  a  second-hand  book-seller  may  belong  to  that 
unhappy  class  of  men  who  have  no  belief  in  the  good  of  what 
they  get  their  living  by,  yet  keep  conscience  enough  to  be  mo- 
rose rather  than  unctuous  in  their  vocation. 

But  instead  of  the  ordinary  tradesman,  he  saw,  on  the  dark 
background  of  books  in  the  long  narrow  shop,  a  figure  that 
was  somewhat  startling  in  its  unusualness.  A  man  in  thread- 
bare clothing,  whose  age  was  difficult  to  guess — from  the  dead 
yellowish  flatness  of  the  flesh,  something  like  an  old  ivory  carv- 
ing— was  seated  on  a  stool  against  some  book-shelves  that  pro- 
jected beyond  the  short  counter,  doing  nothing  more  remarka- 
ble than  reading  the  yesterday's  Times ;  but  when  he  let  the 
paper  rest  on  his  lap  and  looked  at  the  incoming  customer, 
the  thought  glanced  through  Deronda  that  precisely  such  a 
physiognomy  as  that  might  possibly  have  been  seen  in  a  proph- 
et of  the  Exile,  or  in  some  new  Hebrew  poet  of  the  mediaeval 
time.  It  was  a  finely  typical  Jewish  face,  wrought  into  inten- 
sity of  expression  apparently  by  a  strenuous  eager  experience 
in  which  all  the  satisfaction  had  been  indirect  and  far  off,  and 
perhaps  by  some  bodily  suffering  also,  which  involved  that  ab- 
sence of  ease  in  the  present.  The  features  were  clear-cut,  not 
large ;  the  brow  not  high,  but  broad,  and  fully  defined  by  the 
crisp  black  hair.  It  might  never  have  been  a  particularly  hand- 
some face,  but  it  must  always  have  been  forcible ;  and  now, 
with  its  dark,  far-off  gaze,  and  yellow  pallor  in  relief  on  the 
gloom  of  the  backward  shop,  one  might  have  imagined  one's 
self  coming  upon  it  in  some  past  prison  of  the  Inquisition, 
which  a  mob  had  suddenly  burst  open ;  while  the  look  fixed  on 
an  incidental  customer  seemed  eager  and  questioning  enough 
to  have  been  turned  on*  one  who  might  have  been  a  messenger 
either  of  delivery  or  of  death.  The  figure  was  probably  famil- 
iar and  unexciting  enough  to  the  inhabitants  of  this  street ;  but 
to  Deronda's  mind  it  brought  so  strange  a  blending  of  the  un- 
wonted with  the  common,  that  there  was  a  perceptible  interval 
of  mutual  observation  before  he  asked  his  question :  "  What 
is  the  price  of  this  book  ?" 

After  taking  the  book  and  examining  the  fly-leaves  without 


396  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

rising,  the  supposed  book-seller  said, "  There  is  no  mark,  and 
Mr.  Ram  is  not  in  now.  I  am  keeping  the  shop  while  he  is 
gone  to  dinner.  What  are  you  disposed  to  give  for  it  ?"  He 
held  the  book  closed  on  his  lap  with  his  hand  on  it,  and  looked 
examiningly  at  Deronda,  over  whom  there  came  the  disagree- 
able idea,  that  possibly  this  striking  personage  wanted  to  see 
how  much  could  be  got  out  of  a  customer's  ignorance  of  prices. 
But  without  further  reflection  he  said, "  Don't  you  know  how 
much  it  is  worth  ?" 

"  Not  its  market  price.     May  I  ask,  have  you  read  it  ?" 

"  No.  I  have  read  an  account  of  it,  which  makes  me  want 
to  buy  it." 

"  You  are  a  man  of  learning — you  are  interested  in  Jewish 
history  ?"     This  was  said  in  a  deepened  tone  of  eager  inquiry. 

*'  I  am  certainly  interested  in  Jewish  history,"  said  Deronda, 
quietly,  curiosity  overcoming  his  dislike  to  the  sort  of  inspec- 
tion as  well  as  questioning  he  was  under. 

But  immediately  the  strange  Jew  rose  from  his  sitting  post- 
ure, and  Deronda  felt  a  thin  hand  pressing  his  arm  tightly, 
while  a  hoarse,  excited  voice,  not  much  above  a  loud  whisper, 
said, 

"  You  are,  perhaps,  of  our  race  ?" 

Deronda  colored  deeply,  not  liking  the  grasp,  and  then  an- 
swered with  a  slight  shake  of  the  head,  "  No."  The  grasp  was 
relaxed,  the  hand  withdrawn,  the  eagerness  of  the  face  collapsed 
into  uninterested  melancholy,  as  if  some  possessing  spirit  which 
had  leaped  into  the  eyes  and  gestures  had  sunk  back  again  to 
the  inmost  recesses  of  the  frame ;  and  moving  farther  off  as  he 
held  out  the  little  book,  the  stranger  said,  in  a  tone  of  distant 
civility,  "  I  believe  Mr.  Ram  will  be  satisfied  with  half  a  crown, 
sir." 

The  effect  of  this  change  on  Deronda — he  afterward  smiled 
when  he  recalled  it — was  oddly  embarrassing  and  humiliating, 
as  if  some  high  dignitary  had  found  him  deficient  and  given 
him  his  conge.  There  was  nothing  further  to  be  said,  however : 
he  paid  his  half-crown  and  carried  off  his  ^^  Salomon  Maimon's 
Lebensgeschichte  "  with  a  mere  "  Good-morning." 

He  felt  some  vexation  at  the  sudden  arrest  of  the  interview, 
and  the  apparent  prohibition  that  he  should  know  more  of  this 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  397 

man,  who  was  certainly  something  out  of  the  common  way — as 
different,  probably,  as  a  Jew  could  well  be  from  Ezra  Cohen, 
through  whose  door  Deronda  was  presently  entering,  and  whose 
flourishing  face,  glistening  on  the  way  to  fatness,  was  hanging 
over  the  counter  in  negotiation  with  some  one  on  the  other 
side  of  the  partition,  concerning  two  plated  stoppers  and  three 
tea-spoons,  which  lay  spread  before  him.  Seeing  Deronda  en- 
ter, he  called  out  "  Mother !  mother !"  and  then,  with  a  familiar 
nod  and  smile,  said,  "  Coming,  sir — coming  directly." 

Deronda  could  not  help  looking  toward  the  door  from  the 
back  with  some  anxiety,  which  was  not  soothed  when  he  saw  a 
vigorous  woman  beyond  fifty  enter,  and  approach  to  serve  him. 
Not  that  there  was  any  thing  very  repulsive  about  her.  The 
worst  that  could  be  said  was  that  she  had  that  look  of  having 
made  her  toilet  with  little  water,  and  by  twilight,  which  is  com- 
mon to  unyouthful  people  of  her  class,  and  of  having  presum- 
ably slept  in  her  large  ear-rings,  if  not  in  her  rings  and  neck- 
lace. In  fact,  what  caused  a  sinking  of  heart  in  Deronda  was, 
her  not  being  so  coarse  and  ugly  as  to  exclude  the  idea  of  her 
being  Mirah's  mother.  Any  one  who  has  looked  at  a  face  to 
try  and  discern  signs  of  known  kinship  in  it  will  understand 
his  process  of  conjecture — how  he  tried  to  think  away  the  fat 
which  had  gradually  disguised  the  outlines  of  youth,  and  to 
discern  what  one  may  call  the  elementary  expressions  of  the 
face.  He  was  sorry  to  see  no  absolute  negative  to  his  fears. 
Just  as  it  was  conceivable  that  this  Ezra,  brought  up  to  trade, 
might  resemble  the  scape-grace  father  in  every  thing  but  his 
knowledge  and  talent,  so  it  was  not  impossible  that  this  mother 
might  have  had  a  lovely,  refined  daughter  whose  type  of  feature 
and  expression  was  like  Mirah's.  The  eyebrows  had  a  vexa- 
tious similarity  of  line ;  and  who  shall  decide  how  far  a  face 
may  be  masked  when  the  uncherishing  years  have  thrust  it  far 
onward  in  the  ever-new  procession  of  youth  and  age?  The 
good-humor  of  the  glance  remained  and  shone  out  in  a  moth- 
erly way  at  Deronda,  as  she  said,  in  a  mild,  guttural  tone, 

"  How  can  I  serve  you,  sir  ?" 

"  I  should  like  to  look  at  the  silver  clasps  in  the  window," 
said  Deronda ;  "  the  larger  ones,  please,  in  the  corner  there." 

They  were  not  quite  easy  to  get  at  from  the  mother's  sta- 


398  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

tion,  and  the  son,  seeing  this,  called  out,  "  I'll  reach  'em,  mother ; 
I'll  reach  'em,"  running  forward  with  alacrity,  and  then  hand- 
ing the  clasps  to  Deronda  with  the  smiling  remark, 

"  Mother's  too  proud.  She  wants  to  do  every  thing  herself. 
That's  why  I  called  her  to  wait  on  you,  sir.  When  there's  a 
particular  gentleman  customer,  sir,  I  daren't  do  any  other  than 
call  her.  But  I  can't  let  her  do  herself  a  mischief  with  stretch- 
mg. 

Here  Mr.  Cohen  made  way  again  for  his  parent,  who  gave  a 
little  guttural,  amiable  laugh  while  she  looked  at  Deronda,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  This  boy  will  be  at  his  jokes,  but,  you  see,  he's 
the  best  son  in  the  world ;"  and  evidently  the  son  enjoyed  pleas- 
ing her,  though  he  also  wished  to  convey  an  apology  to  his  dis- 
tinguished customer  for  not  giving  him  the  advantage  of  his 
own  exclusive  attention. 

Deronda  began  to  examine  the  clasps  as  if  he  had  many 
points  to  observ^e  before  he  could  come  to  a  decision. 

"  They  are  only  three  guineas,  sir,"  said  the  mother,  encour- 
agingly." 

"  First-rate  workmanship,  sir — worth  twice  the  money ;  only 
t  got  'em  a  bargain  from  Cologne,"  said  the  son,  parenthetical- 
ly, from  a  distance. 

Meanwhile  two  new  customers  entered,  and  the  repeated  call, 
"  Addy !"  brought  from  the  back  of  the  shop  a  group  that  De- 
ronda turned  frankly  to  stare  at,  feeling  sure  that  the  stare 
would  be  held  complimentary.  The  group  consisted  of  a 
black-eyed  young  woman  who  carried  a  black-eyed  little  one, 
its  head  already  well  covered  with  black  curls,  and  deposited  it 
on  the  counter,  from  which  station  it  looked,  round  with  even 
more  than  the  usual  intelligence  of  babies ;  also  a  robust  boy 
of  six  and  a  younger  girl,- both  with  black  eyes  and  black-ring- 
ed hair — looking  more  Semitic  than  their  parents,  as  the  pnppy 
lions  show  the  spots  of  far-off  progenitors.  The  young  woman 
answering  to  "Addy  " — a  sort  of  paroquet  in  a  bright-blue  dress, 
with  coral  necklace  and  ear-rings,  her  hair  set  up  in  a  huge 
bush — looked  as  complacently  lively  and  unrefined  as  her  hus- 
band; and  by  a  certain  difference  from  the  mother  deepened 
in  Deronda  the  unwelcome  impression  that  the  latter  was  not 
so  utterly  common  a  Jewess  as  to  exclude  her  being  the  moth- 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  399 

er  of  Mirah.  While  that  thought  was  glancing  through  his 
mind,  the  boy  had  run  forward  into  the  shop  with  an  energetic 
stamp,  and  setting  himself  about  four  feet  from  Deronda,  with 
his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  miniature  knickerbockers,  look- 
ed at  him  with  a  precocious  air  of  survey.  Perhaps  it  was 
chiefly  with  a  diplomatic  design  to  linger  and  ingratiate  him- 
self that  Deronda  patted  the  boy's  head,  saying, 

"  What  is  your  name,  sirrah  ?" 

"Jacob  Alexander  Cohen,"  said  the  small  man,  with  much 
ease  and  distinctness. 

"  You  are  not  named  after  your  father,  then  ?" 

"  No ;  after  my  grandfather.  He  sells  knives  and  razors  and 
scissors — my  grandfather  does,"  said  Jacob,  wishing  to  impress 
the  stranger  with  that  high  connection.  "He  gave  me  this 
knife."  Here  a  pocket-knife  was  drawn  forth,  and  the  small 
fingers,  both  naturally  and  artificially  dark,  opened  two  blades 
and  a  corkscrew  with  much  quickness. 

"  Is  not  that  a  dangerous  plaything  ?":  said  Deronda,  turning 
to  the  grandmother. 

"^e'll  never  hurt  himself,  bless  you  !"  said  she,  contemplating 
her  grandson  with  placid  rapture. 

"  Have  you  got  a  knife  ?"  says  Jacob,  coming  closer.  His 
small  voice  was  hoarse  in  its  glibness,  as  if  it  belonged  to  an 
aged  commercial  soul,  fatigued  with  bargaining  through  many 
generations. 

"Yes.  Do  you  want  to  see  it?"  said ,  Deronda,  taking  a 
small  penknife  from  his  waistcoat-pocket. 

Jacob  seized  it  immediately  and  retreated  a  little,  holding 
the  two  knives  in  his  palms  and  bending  over  them  in  medita- 
tive comparison.  By  this  time  the  other  clients  were  gone, 
and  the  whole  family  had  gathered  to  the  spot,  centring  their 
attention  on  the  marvelous' Jacob:  the  father,  mother,  and 
grandmother  behind  the  counter,  with  baby  held  staggering 
thereon,  and  the  little  girl  in  front  leaning  at  her  brother's  el- 
bow to  assist  him  in  looking  at  the  knives. 

"  Mine's  the  best,"  said  Jacob,. at  last,  returning  Deronda's 
knife,  as  if  he  had  been  entertaining  the  idea  of  exchange  and 
had  rejected  it. 

Father  and  mother  laus^hed  aloud  with  delisfht. 


400  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

"  You  won't  find  Jacob  choosing  the  worst,"  said  Mr.  Cohen, 
winking,  with  much  confidence  in  the  customer's  admiration. 
Deronda,  looking  at  the  grandmother,  who  had  only  an  inward, 
silent  laugh,  said, 

"Are  these  the  only  grandchildren  you  have?" 

"  All.  This  is  my  only  son,"  she  answered,  in  a  communi- 
cative tone,  Deronda's  glance  and  manner  as  usual  conveying 
the  impression  of  sympathetic  interest — which  on  this  occasion 
answered  his  purpose  well.  It  seemed  to  come  naturally 
enough  that  he  should  say, 

"  And  you  have  no  daughter  ?" 

There  was  an  instantaneous  change  in  the  mother's  face. 
Her  lips  closed  more  firmly,  she  looked  down,  swept  her  hands 
outward  on  the  counter,  and  finally  turned  her  back  on  Deron- 
da to  examine  some  Indian  handkerchiefs  that  hung  in  pawn 
behind  her.  Her  son  gave  a  significant  glance,  set  up  his 
shoulders  an  instant  and  just  put  his  finger  to  his  lips,  then  said, 
quickly, "  I  think  you're  a  first-rate  gentleman  in  the  City,  sir, 
if  I  may  be  allowed  to  guess." 

"  No,"  said  Deronda,  with  a  preoccupied  air,  "  I  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  City." 

"That's  a  bad  job.  I  thought  you  might  be  the  young 
principal  of  a  first-rate  firm,"  said  Mr.  Cohen,  wishing  to  make 
amends  for  the  check  on  his  customer's  natural  desire  to  know 
more  of  him  and  his.  "  But  you  understand  silver-work,  I 
see." 

"A  little,"  said  Deronda,  taking  up  the  clasps  a  moment  and 
laying  them  down  again.  That  unwelcome  bit  of  circumstantial 
evidence  had  made  his  mind  busy  with  a  plan  which  was  cer- 
tainly more  like  acting  than  any  thing  he  had  been  aware  of 
in  his  own  conduct  before.  But  the  bare  possibility  that  more 
knowledge  might  nullify  the  evidence  now  overpowered  the  in- 
clination to  rest  in  uncertainty. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  went  on, "  my  errand  is  not  so 
much  to  buy  as  to  borrow.  I  dare  say  you  go  into  rather 
heavy  transactions  occasiona-lly." 

"  Well,  sir,  I've  accommodated  gentlemen  of  distinction — 
I'm  proud  to  say  it.  I  wouldn't  exchange  my  business  with 
any  in  the  world.     There's  none  more  honorable,  nor  more 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  401 

charitable,  nor  more  necessary  for  all  classes,  from  the  good 
lady  who  wants  a  little  of  the  ready  for  the  baker,  to  a  gentle- 
man like  yourself,  sir,  who  may  want  it  for  amusement.  I  like 
my  business,  I  like  my  street,  and  I  like  my  shop.  I  wouldn't 
have  it  a  door  further  down.  And  I  wouldn't  be  without  a 
pawn-shop,  sir,  to  be  the  lord  mayor.  It  puts  you  in  connection 
with  the  world  at  large.  I  say  it's  like  the  Government  rev- 
enue— it  embraces  the  brass  as  well  as  the  gold  of  the  country. 
And  a  man  who  doesn't  get  money,  sir,  can't  accommodate. 
Now  what  can  I  do  for  you^  sir  ?" 

If  an  amiable  self-satisfaction  is  the  mark  of  earthly  bliss, 
Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  a  pitiable  mortal  compared  with 
Mr.  Cohen — clearly  one  of  those  persons  who,  being  in  excel- 
lent spirits  about  themselves,  are  willing  to  cheer  strangers  by 
letting  them  know  it.  While  he  was  delivering  himself  with 
lively  rapidity,  he  took  the  baby  from  his  wife,  and,  holding  it 
on  his  arm,  presented  his  features  to  be  explored  by  its  small 
fists.  Deronda,  not  in  a  cheerful  mood,  was  rashly  pronouncing 
this  Ezra  Cohen  to  be  the  most  unpoetic  Jew  he  had  ever  met 
with  in  books  or  life.  His  phraseology  was  as  little  as  possible 
like  that  of  the  Old  Testament ;  and  no  shadow  of  a  Suffering 
Race  distinguished  his  vulgarity  of  soul  from  that  of  a  prosper- 
ous pink-and-white  huckster  of  the  purest  English  lineage.  It 
is  naturally  a  Christian  feeling  that  a  Jew  ought  not  to  be  con- 
ceited. However,  this  was  no  reason  for  not  persevering  in  his 
project,  and  he  answered  at  once  in  adventurous  ignorance  of 
technicalities, 

"  I  have  a  fine  diamond  ring  to  offer  as  security — not  with 
me  at  this  moment,  unfortunately,  for  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of 
wearing  it.  But  I  will  come  again  this  evening  and  bring  it 
with  me.  Fifty  pounds  at  once  would  be  a  convenience  to 
me." 

"  Well,-ypu  know,  this  evening  is  the  Sabbath,  young  gentle- 
man," said  Cohen,  "  and  I  go  to  the  Shool.  The  shop  will  be 
closed.  But  accommodation  is  a  work  of  charity ;  if  you  can't 
get  here  before,  and  are  anyways  pressed,  why,  I'll  look  at 
your  diamond.  You're  perhaps  from  the  West  End — a  long- 
ish  drive  ?" 

"Yes;  and  your  Sabbath  begins  early  at  this  season.      I 


402  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

could  be  here  by  five — will  that  do  ?"  Deronda  had  not  been 
without  hope  that  by  asking  to  come  on  a  Friday  evening  he 
might  get  a  better  opportunity  of  observing  points  in  the  fam- 
ily character,  and  might  even  be  able  to  put  some  decisive 
question. 

Cohen  assented ;  but  here  the  marvelous  Jacob,  whose  phy- 
sique supported  a  precocity  that  would  have  shattered  a  Gen- 
tile of  his  years,  showed  that  he  had  been  listening  with  much 
comprehension  by  saying,  "  You  are  coming  again.  Have  you 
got  any  more  knives  at  home  ?" 

"  I  think  I  have  one,"  said  Deronda,  smiling  down  at  him. 

"Has  it  two  blades  and  a  hook  —  and  a  white  handle  like 
that  ?"  said  Jacob,  pointing  to  the  waistcoat-pocket. 

"  I  dare  say  it  has." 

"  Do  you  like  a  corkscrew  ?"  said  Jacob,  exhibiting  that  ar- 
ticle in  his  own  knife  again,  and  looking  up  with  serious  in- 
quiry. 

"  Yes,"  said  Deronda,  experimentally. 

"  Bring  your  knife,  then,  and  we'll  shwop,"  said  Jacob,  re- 
turning the  knife  to  his  pocket,  and  stamping  about  with  the 
sense  that  he  had  concluded  a  good  transaction. 

The  grandmother  had  now  recovered  her  usual  manners,  and 
the  whole  family  watched  Deronda  radiantly  when  he  caress- 
ingly lifted  the  little  girl,  to  whom  he  had  not  hitherto  given 
attention,  and,  seating  her  on  the  counter,  asked  for  her  name 
also.  She  looked  at  him  in  silence,  and  put  her  fingers  to  her 
gold  ear-rings,  which  he  did  not  seem  to  have  noticed. 

"Adelaide  Rebekah  is  her  name,"  said  her  mother,  proudly. 
"  Speak  to  the  gentleman,  lovey." 

"  Shlav'm  Shabbes  fyock  on,"  said  Adelaide  Rebekah. 

"  Her  Sabbath  frock,  she  means,"  said  the  father,  in  expla- 
nation.    "  She'll  have  her  Sabbath  frock  on  this  evening." 

"  And  will  you  let  me  see  you  in  it,  Adelaide  ?"  said  Deron- 
da, with  that  gentle  intonation  which  came  very  easily  to  him. 

"  Say  yes,  lovey — yes,  if  you  please,  sir,"  said  her  mother, 
enchanted  with  this  handsome  young  gentleman,  who  apprecia- 
ted remarkable  children. 

"And  will  you  give  me  a  kiss  this  evening?"  said  Deronda, 
with  a  hand  on  each  of  her  little  brown  shoulders. 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  403 

Adelaide  Rebekah  (her  miniature  crinoline  and  monumental 
features  corresponded  with  the  combination  of  her  names)  im- 
mediately put  up  her  lips  to  pay  the  kiss  in  advance ;  where- 
upon her  father,  rising  intcu  still  more  glowing  satisfaction  with 
the  general  meritoriousness  of  his  circumstances,  and  with  the 
stranger  who  was  an  admiring  witness,  said,  cordially, 

"  You  see  there's  somebody  will  be  disappointed  if  you  don't, 
come  this  evening,  sir.  You  won't  mind  sitting  down  in  our 
family  place  and  waiting  a  bit  for  me,  if  I'm  not  in  when  you 
come,  sir  ?  I'll  stretch  a  point  to  accommodate  a  gent  of  your 
sort.     Bring  the  diamond,  and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

Deronda  thus  left  the  most  favorable  impression  behind  him, 
as  a  preparation  for  more  easy  intercourse.  But  for  his  own 
part  those  amenities  had  been  carried  on  under  the  heaviest 
spirits.  If  these  were  really  Mirah's  relatives,  he  could  not  im- 
agine that  even  her  fervid  filial  piety  could  give  the  reunion 
with  them  any  sweetness  beyond  such  as  could  be  found  in  the 
strict  fulfillment  of  a  painful  duty.  AYhat  did  this  vaunting 
brother  need?  And  with  the  most  favorable  supposition  about 
the  hypothetic  mother,  Deronda  shrunk  from  the  image  of  a  first 
meeting  between  her  and  Mirah,  and  still  more  from  the  idea 
of  Mirah's  domestication  with  this  family.  He  took  refuge  in 
disbelief.  To  find  an  Ezra  Cohen  when  the  name  was  running 
in  your  head  was  no  more  extraordinary  than  to  find  a  Josiah 
Smith  under  like  circumstances;  and  as  to  the  coincidence 
about  the  daughter,  it  would  probably  turn  out  to  be  a  differ- 
ence. If,  however,  further  knowledge  confirmed  the  more  un- 
desirable conclusion,  what  would  be  wise  expediency  ? — to  try 
and  determine  the  best  consequences  by  concealment,  or  to 
brave  other  consequences  for  the  sake  of  that  openness  which 
is  the  sweet  fresh  air  of  our  moral  life  ? 


404  DANIEL   DERONDA. 


CHAPTER  XXXIY. 

"  Er  ist  geheissen 
Israel.     Ihn  hat  verwandelt 
Hexenspruch  in  einen  Hund. 


» 


Aber  jeden  Freitag  Abend, 
In  der  Daram'rungstunde,  plotzlich 
Weicht  der  Zauber,  und  der  Hund 
Wird  aufs  Neu'  ein  menschlieh  Wesen." 

Heine  :  Prinzessinn  Sabbath. 

When  Deronda  arrived  at  five  o'clock,  the  shop  was  closed, 
and  the  door  was  opened  for  him  by  the  Christian  servant. 
When  she  showed  him  into  the  room  behind  the  shop,  he  was 
surprised  at  the  prettiness  of  the  scene.  The  house  was  old, 
and  rather  extensive  at  the  back.  Probably  the  large  room  he 
entered  was  gloomy  by  daylight,  but  now  it  was  agreeably  light- 
ed by  a  fine  old  brass  lamp  with  seven  oil-lights  hanging  above 
the  snow-white  cloth  spread  on  the  central  table.  The  ceil- 
ing and  walls  were  smoky,  and  all  the  surroundings  were  dark 
enough  to  throw  into  relief  the  human  figures,  which  had  a 
Venetian  glow  of  coloring.  The  grandmother  was  arrayed  in 
yellowish  brown,  with  a  large  gold  chain  in  lieu  of  the  neck- 
lace ;  and  by  this  light  her  yellow  face,  with  its  darkly  marked 
eyebrows  and  framing  rouleau  of  gray  hair,  looked  as  handsome 
as  was  necessary  for  picturesque  effect.  Young  Mrs.  Cohen  was 
clad  in  red  and  black,  with  a  string  of  large  artificial  pearls 
wound  round  and  round  her  neck ;  the  baby  lay  asleep  in  the 
cradle  under  a  scarlet  counterpane ;  Adelaide  Rebekah  was  in 
braided  amber ;  and  Jacob  Alexander  was  in  black  velveteen 
with  scarlet  stockings.  As  the  four  pairs  of  black  eyes  all 
glistened  a  welcome  at  Deronda,  he  was  almost  ashamed  of  the 
supercilious  dislike  these  happy-looking  creatures  had  raised  in 
him  by  daylight.  Nothing  could  be  more  cordial  than  the 
greeting  he  received,  and  both  mother  and  grandmother  seem- 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  405 

ed  to  gather  more  dignity  from  being  seen  on  the  private 
hearth,  showing  hospitaUty.  He  looked  round  with  some  won- 
der at  the  old  furniture :  the  oaken  bureau  and  high  side  table 
must  surely  be  mere  matters  of  chance  and  economy,  and  not 
due  to  the  family  taste.  A  large  dish  of  blue-and-yellow  ware 
was  set  up  on  the  side-table,  and  flanking  it  were  two  old  silver 
vessels:  in  front  of  them  a  large  volume  in  darkened  vellum, 
with  a  deep-ribbed  back.  In  the  corner,  at  the  farther  end,  was 
an  open  door  into  an  inner  room,  where  there  was  also  a  light. 

Deronda  took  in  these  details  by  parenthetic  glances  while 
he  met  Jacob's  pressing  solicitude  about  the  knife.  He  had 
taken  the  pains  to  buy  one  with  the  requisites  of  the  hook  and 
white  handle,  and  produced  it  on  demand,  saying, 

"  Is  that  the  sort  of  thing  you  want,  Jacob  ?" 

It  was  subjected  to  a  severe  scrutiny,  the  hook  and  blades 
were  opened,  and  the  article  of  barter  w^ith  the  corkscrew  was 
drawn  forth  for  comparison. 

"  Why  do  you  like  a  hook  better  than  a  corkscrew  ?"  said 
Deronda. 

"  'Caush  I  can  get  hold  of  things  with  a  hook.  A  corkscrew 
won't  go  into  any  thing  but  corks.  But  it's  better  for  you, 
you  can  draw  corks." 

"  You  agree  to  change,  then  ?"  said  Deronda,  observing  that 
the  grandmother  was  listening  with  delight. 

"  AMiat  else  have  you  got  in  your  pockets  ?"  said  Jacob,  with 
deliberative  seriousness. 

"  Hush,  hush,  Jacob,  love,"  said  the  grandmother.  And  De- 
ronda, mindful  of  discipline,  answered, 

"  I  think  I  must  not  tell  you  that.  Our  business  w^as  with 
the  knives." 

Jacob  looked  up  into  his  face  scanningly  for  a  moment  or 
two,  and,  apparently  arriving  at  his  conclusions,  said,  gravely, 

"  I'll  shwop,"  handing  the  corkscrew  knife  to  Deronda,  who 
pocketed  it  with  corresponding  gravity. 

Immediately  the  small  son  of  Shem  ran  off  into  the  next 
room,  whence  his  voice  was  heard  in  rapid  chat ;  and  then  ran 
back  again — when,  seeing  his  father  enter,  he  seized  a  little  vel- 
veteen hat  which  lay  on  a  chair  and  put  it  on  to  approach  him. 
Cohen  kept  on  his  own  hat,  and  took  no  notice  of  the  visitor, 


406  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

but  stood  still  Avhile  the  two  children  went  np  to  him  and  clasp- 
ed his  knees ;  then  he  laid  his  hands  on  each  in  turn  and  utter- 
ed his  Hebrew  benediction ;  whereupon  the  wife,  who  had  late- 
ly taken  baby  from  the  cradle,  brought  it  up  to  her  husband 
and  held  it  under  his  outstretched  hands,  to  be  blessed  in  its 
sleep.  For  the  moment  Deronda  thought  that  this  pawnbroker, 
proud  of  his  vocation,  w^as  not  utterly  prosaic. 

"  Well,  sir,  you  found  your  welcome  in  my  family,  I  think," 
said  Cohen,  putting  down  his  hat,  and  becoming  his  former 
self.  "And  you've  been  punctual.  Nothing  like  a  little  stress 
here,"  he  added,  tapping  his  side-pocket,  as  he  sat  down.  "  It's 
good  for  us  all  in  our  turn.  I've  felt  it  when  I've  had  to  make 
up  payments.  I  began  early — ^had  to  turn  myself  about  and 
put  myself  into  shapes  to  fit  ever}^  sort  of  box.  It's  bracing  to 
the  mind.     Now,  then !  let  us  see,  let  us  see." 

"  That  is  the  ring  I  spoke  of,"  said  Deronda,  taking  it  from 
his  finger.  "  I  believe  it  cost  a  hundred  pounds.  It  will  be  a 
sufficient  pledge  to  you  for  fifty,  I  think.  I  shall  probably  re- 
deem it  in  a  month  or  so." 

Cohen's  glistening  eyes  seemed  to  get  a  little  nearer  together 
as  he  met  the  ingenuous  look  of  this  crude  young  gentleman, 
who  apparently  supposed  that  redemption  was  a  satisfaction  to 
pawnbrokers.  He  took  the  ring,  examined  and  returned  it, 
saying  with  indifference,  "  Good,  good.  We'll  talk  of  it  after 
our  meal.  Perhaps  you'll  join  us,  if  you've  no  objection.  Me 
and  my  wife  '11  feel  honored,  and  so  will  mother ;  won't  you, 
mother?" 

The  invitation  was  doubly  echoed,  and  Deronda  gladly  ac- 
cepted it.  All  now  turned  and  stood  round  the  table.  No 
dish  w^as  at  present  seen  except  one  covered  with  a  napkin ;  and 
Mrs.  Cohen  had  placed  a  china  bowl  near  her  husband,  that 
he  might  wash  his  hands  in  it.  But  after  putting  on  his  hat 
again,  he  paused,  and  called  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Mordecai !" 

"  Can  this  be  part  of  the  religious  ceremony  ?"  thought  Deron- 
da, not  knowing  what  might  be  expected  of  the  ancient  hero. 
But  he  heard  a  "  Yes  "  from  the  next  room,  which  made  him 
look  toward  the  open  door ;  and  there,  to  liis  astonishment,  he 
saw  the  figure  of  the  enigmatic  Jew  whom  he  had  this  morn- 
ing met  with  in  the  book-shop.     Their  eyes  met,  and  Mordecai 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  407 

looked  as  much  surprised  as  Deronda — neitlier  in  his  surprise 
making  any  sign  of  recognition.  But  when  Mordecai  was 
seating  himself  at  the  end  of  the  table,  he  just  bent  his  head 
to  the  guest  in  a  cold  and  distant  manner,  as  if  the  disappoint- 
ment of  the  morning  remained  a  disagreeable  association  with 
this  new  acquaintance. 

Cohen  now  washed  his  hands,  pronouncing  Hebrew  words 
the  while ;  afterward,  he  took  off  the  napkin  covering  the  dish 
and  disclosed  the  two  long  flat  loaves  besprinkled  with  seed — 
the  memorial  of  the  manna  that  fed  the  wandering  forefathers 
— and  breaking  off  small  pieces  gave  one  to  each  of  the  family, 
including  Adelaide  Rebekah,  who  stood  on  the  chair  with  her 
whole  length  exhibited  in  her  amber-colored  garment,  her  little 
Jewish  nose  lengthened  by  compression  of  the  lip  in  the  effort 
^to  make  a  suitable  appearance.  Cohen  then  began  another 
Hebrew  blessing,  in  which  Jacob  put  on  his  hat  to  join  with 
close  imitation.  After  that,  the  heads  were  uncovered,  all  seat- 
ed themselves,  and  the  meal  went  on  without  any  peculiarity 
that  interested  Deronda.  He  was  not  very  conscious  of  what 
dishes  he  eat  from,  being  preoccupied  with  a  desire  to  turn  the 
conversation  in  a  way  that  would  enable  him  to  ask  some  lead- 
ing question ;  and  also  with  thinking  of  Mordecai,  between 
whom  and  himself  there  was  an  exchange  of  fascinated,  half- 
furtive  glances.  Mordecai  had  no  handsome  Sabbath  garment, 
but  instead  of  the  threadbare  rusty  black  coat  of  the  morning 
he  wore  one  of  light  drab,  whicli  looked  as  if  it  had  once  been 
a  handsome  loose  paletot  now  shrunk  with  washing ;  and  this 
change  of  clothing  gave  a  still  stronger  accentuation  to  his  dark- 
haired,  eager  face,  which  might  have  belonged  to  the  proph- 
et Ezekiel — also  probably  not  modish  in  the  eyes  of  contem- 
poraries. It  was  noticeable  that  the  thin  tails  of  the  fried  fish 
were  giv^en  to  Mordecai;  and  in  general  the  sort  of  share  as- 
signed to  a  poor  relation — no  doubt  a  "  survival "  of  prehistor- 
ic practice,  not  yet  generally  admitted  to  be  superstitious. 

Mr.  Cohen  kept  up  the  conversation  with  much  liveliness,  in- 
troducing as  subjects  always  in  taste  (the  Jew  is  proud  of  his 
loyalty)  the  queen  and  the  royal  family,  the  emperor  and 
Empress  of  the  French  —  into  which  both  grandmother  and 
wife  entered  with  zest.     Mrs.  Cohen  the  younger  showed  an 


408  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

accurate  memory  of  distinguished  birthdays ;  and  the  elder  as- 
sisted her  son  in  informing  the  guest  of  what  occurred  when 
the  emperor  and  empress  were  in  England  and  visited  the 
City,  ten  years  before. 

"  I  dare  say  you  know  all  about  it  better  than  we  do,  sir," 
said  Cohen,  repeatedly,  by  way  of  preface  to  full  information ; 
and  the  interesting  statements  were  kept  up  in  a  trio. 

"  Our  baby  is  named  ^wgenie  Esther,"  said  young  Mrs.  Co- 
hen, vivaciously. 

"  It's  wonderful  how  the  emperor's  like  a  cousin  of  mine  in 
the  face,"  said  the  grandmother ;  "  it  struck  me  like  lightning 
when  I  caught  sight  of  him.     I  couldn't  have  thought  it." 

"  Mother  and  me  went  to  see  the  emperor  and  empress  at 
the  Crystal  Palace,"  said  Mr.  Cohen.  "  I  had  a  fine  piece  of 
work  to  take  care  of  mother;  she  might  have  been  squeezed 
flat — though  she  was  pretty  near  as  lusty  then  as  she  is  now. 
I  said,  if  I  had  a  hundred  mothers  I'd  never  take  one  of  'em  to 
see  the  emperor  and  empress  at  the  Crystal  Palace  again; 
and  you  may  think  a  man  can't  afford  it  when  he's  got  but  one 
mother — not  if  he'd  ever  so  big  an  insurance  on  her."  He 
stroked  his  mother's  shoulder  affectionately,  and  chuckled  a  lit- 
tle at  his  own  humor. 

"  Your  mother  has  been  a  widow  a  long  while,  perhaps," 
said  Deronda,  seizing  his  opportunit}^  "  That  has  made  your 
care  for  her  the  more  needful." 

"  Ay,  ay,  it's  a  good  many  yore-zeit  since  I  had  to  manage 
for  her  and  myself,"  said  Cohen,  quickly.  "  I  went  early  to  it. 
It's  that  makes  you  a  sharp  knife." 

"  What  does — what  makes  a  sharp  knife,  father  ?"  said  Jacob, 
his  cheek  very  much  swollen  with  sweet-cake. 

The  father  winked  at  his  guest,  and  said,  "  Having  your  nose 
put  on  the  grindstone." 

Jacob  slipped  from  his  chair  with  the  piece  of  sweet-cake  in 
his  hand,  and  going  close  up  to  Mordecai,  who  had  been  totally 
silent  hitherto,  said,  "  What  does  that  mean — putting  my  nose 
to  the  grindstone  V 

"  It  means  that  you  are  to  bear  being  hurt  without  making  a 
noise,"  said  Mordecai,  turning  his  eyes  benignantly  on  the  small 
face  close  to  his.     Jacob  put  the  corner  of  the  cake  into  Mor- 


BOOK    IV.— >  GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  409 

decai's  mouth  as  an  invitation  to  bite,  saying  meanwhile, "  I 
sha'n't,  though,"  and  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  cake  to  observe 
how  much  of  it  went  in  this  act  of  generosity.  Mordecai 
took  a  bite  and  smiled,  evidently  meaning  to  please  the  lad,  and 
the  little  incident  made  them  both  look  more  lovable.  Deron- 
da,  however,  felt  with  some  vexation  that  he  had  taken  little  by 
his  question. 

"  T  fancy  that  is  the  right  quarter  for  learning,"  said  he,  car- 
rying on  the  subject,  that  he  might  have  an  excuse  for  address- 
ing Mordecai,  to  whom  he  turned,  and  said,  "  You  have  been  a 
great  student,  I  imagine." 

"I  have  studied,"  was  the  quiet  answer.  '''And  you? — you 
know  German,  by  the  book  you  were  buying." 

"  Yes,  I  have  studied  in  Germany.  Are  you  generally  en- 
gaged in  book-selling  ?"  said  Deronda. 

"  No ;  I  only  go  to  Mr.  Ram's  shop  every  day  to  keep  it 
while  he  goes  to  meals,"  said  Mordecai,  who  was  now  looking 
at  Deronda  with  what  seemed  a  revival  of  his  original  interest : 
it  seemed  as  if  the  face  had  some  attractive  indication  for  him 
which  now  neutralized  the  former  disappointment.  After  a 
slight  pause,  he  said,  "  Perhaps  you  know  Hebrew  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  not  at  all." 

Mordecai's  countenance  fell ;  he  cast  down  his  eyelids,  look- 
ing at  his  hands,  which  lay  crossed  before  him,  and  said  no 
more.  Deronda  had  now  noticed  more  decisively  than  in  their 
former  interview  a  difficulty  of  breathing,  which  he  thought 
must  be  a  sign  of  consumption. 

"  I've  had  something  else  to  do  than  to  get  book-learning,'* 
said  Mr.  Cohen — "  I've  had  to  make  myself  knowing  about  use- 
ful things.  I  know  stones  well " — here  he  pointed  to  Deron- 
da's  ring.  "  I'm  not  afraid  of  taking  that  ring  of  yours  at  my 
own  valuation.  But  now,"  he  added,  with  a  certain  drop  in 
his  voice  to  a  lower,  more  familiar  nasal, "  what  do  you  want 
for  it?" 

"  Fifty  or  sixty  pounds,"  Deronda  answered,  rather  too  care- 
lessly. 

Cohen  paused  a  little,  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  fixed 
on  Deronda  a  pair  of  glistening  eyes  that  suggested  a  miracu- 
lous guinea-pig,  and  said,  "  Couldn't  do  you  that.     Happy  to 

Vol.  I.— 18 


410  DANIEL    DERONDA. 

oblige,  but  couldn't  go  that  lengths.  Forty  pound — say  forty 
— I'll  let  you  have  forty  on  it." 

Deronda  was  aware  that  Mordecai  had  looked  up  again  at 
the  words  implying  a  monetary  affair,  and  was  now  examining 
him  again,  while  he  said, "  Very  well ;  I  shall  redeem  it  in  a 
month  or  so." 

"Good!  I'll  make  you  out  the  ticket  by -and -by,"  said 
Cohen,  indifferently.  Then  he  held  up  his  finger  as  a  sign  that 
conversation  must  be  deferred.  He,  Mordecai,  and  Jacob  put 
on  their  hats,  and  Cohen  opened  a  thanksgiving,  which  was 
carried  on  by  responses,  till  Mordecai  delivered  himself  alone 
at  some  length,  in  a  solemn  chanting  tone,  with  his  chin  slight- 
ly uplifted  and  his  thin  hands  clasped  easily  before  him.  Not 
only  in  his  accent  and  tone,  but  in  his  freedom  from  the  self- 
consciousness  which  has  reference  to  oth^s'  approbation,  there 
could  hardly  have  been  a  stronger  contrast  to  the  Jew  at  the 
other  end  of  the  table.  It  was  an  unaccountable  conjunction 
— the  presence  among  these  common,  prosperous,  shop-keeping 
types  of  a  man  who,  in  an  emaciated,  threadbare  condition,  im- 
posed a  certain  awe  on  Deronda,  and  an  embarrassment  at  not 
meeting  his  expectations. 

Xo  sooner  had  Mordecai  finished  his  devotional  strain,  than, 
rising  with  a  slight  bend  of  his  head  to  the  stranger,  he  walked 
back  into  his  room,  and  shut  the  door  behind  him. 

"  That  seems  to  be  rather  a  remarkable  man,"  said  Deronda, 
turning  to  Cohen,  who  immediately  set  up  his  shoulders,  put 
out  his  tongue  slightly,  and  tapped  his  own  brow.  It  was 
clearly  to  be  understood  that  Mordecai  did  not  come  up  to  the 
standard  of  sanity  which  was  set  by  Mr.  Cohen's  view  of  men 
and  things. 

"  Does  he  belong  to  your  family  ?"  said  Deronda. 

This  idea  appeared  to  be  rather  ludicrous  to  the  ladies  as 
well  as  to  Cohen,  and  the  family  interchanged  looks  of  amuse- 
ment. 

"No,  no,"  said  Cohen.  "Charity!  charity!  He  worked 
for  me,  and  when  he  got  weaker  and  weaker  I  took  him  in. 
He's  an  incumbrance ;  but  he  brings  a  blessing  down,  and  he 
teaches  the  boy.  Besides,  he  does  the  repairing  at  the  watches 
and  jewelry." 


BOOK    IV. GWENDOLEN    GETS    HER    CHOICE.  411 

Deronda  hardly  abstained  from  smiling  at  this  mixture  of 
kindliness  and  the  desire  to  justify  it  in  the  light  of  a  calcula- 
tion ;  but  his  willingness  to  speak  further  of  Mordecai,  whose 
character  was  made  the  more  enigmatically  striking  by  these 
new  details,  was  baffled.  Mr.  Cohen  immediately  dismissed  the 
subject  by  reverting  to  the  "  accommodation,"  which  was  also 
an  act  of  charity,  and  proceeded  to  make  out  the  ticket,  get  the 
forty  pounds,  and  present  them  both  in  exchange  for  the  dia- 
mond ring.  Deronda,  feeling  that  it  would  be  hardly  delicate 
to  protract  his  visit  beyond  the  settlement  of  the  business 
which  was  its  pretext,  had  to  take  his  leave,  with  no  more  de- 
cided result  than  the  advance  of  forty  pounds  and  the  pawn- 
ticket in  his  breast-pocket,  to  make  a  reason  for  returning 
when  he  came  up  to  town  after  Christmas.  He  was  resolved 
that  he  would  then  endeavor  to  gain  a  little  more  insight  into 
the  character  and  history  of  Mordecai;  from  whom  also  he 
might  gather  something  decisive  about  the  Cohens — for  exam- 
ple, the  reason  why  it  was  forbidden  to  ask  Mrs.  Cohen  the 
elder  whether  she  had  a  daughter. 


END    OF    VOL.   L 


inl 


